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"