I imagine ghosts exist, if only to float and dance through the mist.
Not remembering who or what they are.
They don't speak, they don't weep
Instead they howl, gut-wrenching
Echoing down emptied halls.
Passing through spiders spinning webs
brushing the dust off statue heads
Forgetting names, or important places
They don't speak, they don't weep
Instead they wander, broken
Peering through ***** windows.
I imagine they prefer to haunt empty homes
Places like them, left alone
Gutted, hollow, naked rooms
They don't speak, they don't weep
Instead they haunt, barley noticed
Wailing for their names