I woke up too sick to get out of bed.
I was up too late dancing with the ghosts in my head.
drank too much wine and wished I were dead-
I was up too late dancing with the ghosts in my head.
I could be ok and not feel so wasted
if each ghost that spun me round the floor didn't wear your face.
so I spend the night in a melancholy place-
toasting each memory that I can't replace.
maybe one more drink can lay these ghosts to rest.
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