We huddled at the edge and watched the wind Blowing north the water flowing south The willows swaying weeping for the dead The sun forever going going down
This hideaway we haunted harbored hordes Of ghosts of outcast lovers hanging on To all the times they huddled there before Their time was up and they were gone
The ghosts of outcast lovers would attend Whenever outcast lovers came to burn The fire of the force at their command For they are cold cold and they yearn
It’s ages since we huddled in our lair While other outcast lovers came and went We’ll join the ghosts of outcast lovers there When our time is up and we are spent
(c) 2025 by Jack Morris
Hear the song on SoundCloud: soundcloud.com/therealjackstrange/love-haunt
Unglorified victories are glorious yet. No one knows what the novice knows as he goes from worse to better. The consequence is small, of course -- too small for pros to care to notice. Yet every pro is a glorified novice.