Can't Shake the GhostMature

A blues-rock song

Thumping drums of a blood cell band,
Tend to disrupt the frontal lobe’s sleep.
You can’t help to take it on a grain of sand,
And ever onward does thump the beat.

Brain aches, churning pain in the night,
All surrounding a deeper feeling to be true.
Say she tries to run from what she knows is right.
But what he’s really running from is you.

Look behind you now, my friend.
It’s the busted up spirit of hopes.
Abandoned when you left her behind,
And you just can’t shake the ghost.
You just can’t shake the ghost.

Sweet talking man will rot out the teeth,
Of a dog biting down on the deal. 
Puncture wounds and exposed meat,
Draw the dogs to make you a meal.

But when it falls through and it starts to rot,
He’ll turn from his victim and run.
But that won’t save him, running or not,
When the victim loads a clip in the gun.

Look behind you now, my friend.
It’s the betrayed spirit of hopes,
Angered by your selfish lies,
And you just can’t shake the ghost.
You just can’t shake the ghost.

You can leave something in the past.
That doesn’t mean there it will stay.
It’ll catch up to you and bite you in the ass,
And leave you as a ghost, it just may.

Sever all the ties, make a break for the door,
Burn down the house, bleach out the stains,
Cut the loose ends, throw away what you wore,
Bandage the wounds and ignore all the pains.

But just you listen and look behind you my friend.
It’s the past you tried to avoid, or so you hoped.
You can’t run anymore you little motherfucker,
You just can’t shake the ghost.
No you  just can’t shake the ghost. 

Ratatatat drums the blood cell band
Gunpowder residue on the right hand.
A good looking corpse being eaten by dogs,
And ever turning are the karma cogs.
You can’t shake the ghost.

The End

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