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I had my hopes of how I would be |
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After living in exile |
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After closing your eyes to me |
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I even wrote scenes where I reemerged boldly |
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Bearded, alive, with eskimo eyes |
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New baby on my back, but from where? |
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But I didn't count the fact that I have ghosts in my mind |
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Stowaways. Great ghosts of my life |
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Great ghosts of old wives |
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And they're howling! |
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So I spent my wilderness time rolling on the ground |
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Pulling my hair, and wrestling them off |
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Yelling at no one, punching snow |
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I gathered ghosts and gave them my lecture |
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I bid them away, I pleaded and cried. I said, |
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There's no room in my life for you, or you, |
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or your howling! |
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Let me undo these ropes and go on living without you |
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Not just change where we live |
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Go on get, I said |
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I had my hopes about how I would be after sending them off |
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After getting set free |
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But there's no such thing as living |
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Without their prowling |
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As you can see, having descended the hill |
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I still look like me |
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I still wallow like Phil |
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And forever will |
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I'm teeming with ghosts and I'm still whining for wives |
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Knitting my brow |
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But now I've surrendered |
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In fact, I have joined in |
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Hear us howling! |
