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You have a ghost town in your backyard —all silence but not one soul alive— The hall of your house is full of faces from times long gone and of rubbish exalted to be truth
You have a ghost town in your heart —all silence and your soul is not alive— The walls of your house has hardened until it cracked under the flow of your hate
It's supposed to be sad —a misfortune carried through generations of apathy and abuse— but we are here silent, ever-lasting I don't know why but you have a ghost town in your backyard and darling —I am one of your ghosts
