Ghosts of Brunswick
William Wallace
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A ghost can't rest until its name is spoken for the very last time Blue circles holding up the walls, ivy growing down the chalk lines The heart will have its catacombs Bones laid under marble stones Secrets spoken in the half-light Scan the spirit radio We talk until it's time to go Then bid them rest until the next time These winter days the veil thins 'til I can almost touch the ether The wind finds comfort in the space between the windows and the heater Radiator whistle low Sing those songs from long ago I need a friend until the morning Temperature will stall and dive Half asleep but still alive Til April hangs the trees with her adorning The old straight track, the space between That runs from here to Aberdeen Lines that glow like copper wire Spirits dance like Elmo's fire Finding patterns, ear kept low To static on the radio Stories from another time Reaching from your heart to mine A man can't die until his name is spoken for the very last time Blue circle holding up the walls the ivy growing down the ley lines Eighteen-hundred forty four A poet was then was no more A love sneaks up and then it hits you Nineteen-hundred forty one One eye closed and one eye gone You never hear the one that gets you
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