I was sitting in the bitter cold,
Dead clouds floatin' all around me.
I went looking for a distant hole,
Snow drifts dancin' at my feet.
Through the forest,
Knew the chorus,
Of the searching wind.
I was waiting for a reccolection,
Of cold air filling up my chest.
I was sittin' through a vacant memory,
Dead as running from my breath.
With my footsteps came the presence of the searching wind.
And it said;
"where will they go
Where will they go
You act like youre chasing a ghost
You act like youre chasing a ghost"
I stood staring at an empty forest,
Both hands colder, maybe frozen.
I spoke to my interlocutor,
"why the burden of your questions?"
Then the flurries put to hurry,
A need to gather warmth.
I lay shaking in my narrow bed,
Dead thoughts living once again.
I slipped down into a burning fever,
And no things came into my head.
Lime and swirls dashed and curled right outside my door and it said:
"where will you go
Where will you go
You act like youre chasing a ghost
You act like youre chashing a ghost
Where will you go
Where will you go
You act like youre chasing a ghost
You act like youre chashing a ghost"