the Ghosts of Midnights' Past

When the Ghosts come home to roost, from their posts in the netherworld,
they come back to their roots to relax, no rest for the wicked tho,
try to kick it back and tip it back fast, like a liquid antacid.
hey that clock'll keep on ticking down,
if you got an extra long neck, stick it out 'n' take a look around 'n'
tell me if it's safe to bring the bigger guns out.
there never was a better metaphor,
before you were ever ready for it, or were ever born
steady as she goes, shocked, as electric flow gotcha,
the burden of the knowledge that we know is gunna haunt you,
so you'd better mind your B's,
but get your P's and Q's in order and erect for a triple letter score
I bet the more and more I collect'll end up piles of regret,
in the corner on the floor.
there is no shortage of just how much one can horde,
in order to get to perfect 10,
how much stuff do we need, before perfection sets in,
how much stuff do we need, to get us into Heaven?
it's never enough, just keep collectin til your dead,
then maybe... God'll resurrect you,
and you'll get another chance to make a better first impression,
impressive, impressed, I get it,
the ego needs some wiggle room to try and
make it better than your fellow bretheren, sisteren,
leavin little room to make your own improvements, foolish,
should try to fix your attitude,
before it ruines you and you're left with uninvolvement,
on the other hand it's better left alone
remember how you liked to express, you were stronger on your own?
I must confess, in this time of distress,
our differences do not exist, simply because someone else suggested it.


How we make amens to the dead,
we pray for their safety,
in their journey, to their destination,
then bravely point away, we're afraid,
not only of our death, but of any kind of change.
How we ever plan to get ahead,
livin in the past, followin the footsteps, of other men who are dead,
in a hand written path and in hand to hand combat
yet another metaphor mistaken,
arm in arm, but without arms, everyday in conversation,
all the way in, and through the generations
til that script that's written on parchment's ancient, history outdated.
Thoughts inked on that little piece of paper,
they bought and sold people for profit, or loss for example,
what kind of logic, did the job back then,
simply DOES NOT apply here right?

I'm hopin for some change. that's why,
you've never heard this song before or on this date and time..
tryin to find our way to your hearts, with a rhyme, but also lost our minds,
tryin to connect with the people, in jest, it's just
20 guesses away, from a YES or NO question,
buried deep inside the brain of,
anyone who'd listen, consciously, objectively,
pathetically enough, you're approval's needed badly,
necessary to achieve the highest level of achievement, I can recieve,
the gratification of knowing, I'm connectin with the masses,
and reaching an understanding, even I could never fathom,
and I'll keep reachin for the stars, even if it takes me til I'm dead to have one.....