There’s a house on Her Ghost Hill with a paper window sill
All the words melt into her heart when it rains
Upon those all but transparent window panes
Where the heavens open and light so strange appears to spill
As though a dream in chains of thought weakly strains,

Against a wall of Night that ever covers
Throes of darkness writes the words in bones in marrows
Speaking ill about her phantom lovers
Something like outrageous fortune, slings and arrows

Like poison jewels obscene to wield and wear
When nothing is and no one knows to think
When angels clothed in things too small to appear
And all the planes and ships at sea disappear
Into a well so deep, and dire as ink

Somewhere sunrise, somewhere bread breaks
Seeing her eyes turning like the world bathed in blue
Peering and seeing someone so far gone within
Are you there, can you hear, she speaks
And it’s only her ghost that you feel as you spin
Nothing wrong, nothing false could ever be so true

Like the world that you lost, forgotten somehow so still

As though a dream in chains of thought weakly strains
Where the heavens open and light so strange appears to spill
Upon those all but transparent window panes
All the words melt into her heart when it rains
There’s a house on Her Ghost Hill with a paper window sill .