Under the mantle of this world
The thickness of the storm clouds
Perpetual, thorough
Meeting the foam crest of the waves
Dark enough to hide intentions

Walking along the tired rocky shore
A stretch common, tasteless to all but the vaguest sense
Some spray, felt deep along the sides of the tongue
The sobering corpse, I found
Still clawing at the stones

I can feel the tears well in my eyes
There is nothing I can do
Empathetic thoughts blow through my mind
Cold strains of tainted breath
His voice is cold air, so dissimilar
And with every trace of dogma
Such overused platitudes
Yet I hold fast to that stringent emotion  

He knows me
He knows what I used to be, and what brought me to who I am
I watch him

He tries to pry, bone exposed at the fingertips
Why did this come to me
Remorse
Filled with pity, I bend down
I comfort him

The host burst
And now I feel it
Moving though the back of my skull
It's tendrils become rooted
The eyes see though my own
And it swallows what It will

The desperate remains inside me scream at it
But it's just rotten flesh

And there's nothing left for me
Now and forever

i'd prayed for the Holy Ghost more times than most
engrossed in the idea religion was some signpost

...waiting for Mary's face on my own toast

i lost all hope when I saw the demon host
rising hellish from their infernal roast
i just wish someone had, to me, disclosed
that there's no such thing as ghosts

Cut my conscious believing
Feed me to the sharks
But don't give them my heart
Give me peace of mind
Let my soul rest in the clutches of a forbidden dinesty  
I'll invite you over
I'll be the perfect host
I'll give you such a good time
You'll be left hanging on the edge
Better not fall!
Watch your step from the very moment you enter.
I do care about you to a certain extent

I have long died
So I've watch your life from a distance
Nothing truly captivating,but you're the perfect specimen
One I can devour
You seem so weak and fragile though
I'll be bold while I indulge in your poor soul
I'm no grim reaper
I'm the perfect host ******!
And I just won't enjoy your flesh as much as I'll enjoy your delicate soul.

My "job" at school isn't important,
But its more important than most,
I do what others refuse too, who can't,
I don't take orders from the Host.

The Host makes girls spread rumours.
The Host makes girls fight.
The Host tries to make me do humour.
But the Host can't make me do anything,
Much to my delight!

I was meant to be a messenger,
The simplest of my type,
I still am with gears turning and stirring
But I was fitted with too much hype.

They can't really blame me for silly things,
Or when things go wrong,
The can try blame me for spreading my wings,
But this position just feels so wrong...

I was simply meant to be messenger,
But know I'm like a ghost,
I'll trundle down these hallways,
Always defying the Host...

Sometimes I look down at my hands and I realize that I do not know who is controlling them. I do not feel like I'm me, when I look in the mirror there's always a voice in the back of my head convincing me that what I am seeing is not really there, that I am not in fact the being staring back at me. My hands are not my hands, my legs are not my legs, and my face isn't my face. It's like I'm living, but through someone else. But I don't want to be someone else anymore, I want to be me. But who am I?

There's a mansion that I know
Where many people come and go
The owner invites visitors each day
Then entertains them, let them stay

The guests are happy, they feel good
There are many free clothes and foods
They celebrate a party each night
They eat and dance until the first light

Since all the guests are good people
They're not selfish nor ungrateful
They work for free, they clean each part
Love the place from the bottom of their hearts

But the owner turns into someone
Who doesn't understands who's a free man
He starts treating each guest like a child
There comes a time he acts so wild

The rumors spread to all the guests
They start to observe, make their quests
Each day one of them finds something
That makes him leave on the next morning

There's a mansion that I know
Where many people come and go
Each door has a secret to unfold
Will you come to that place to find a gold?

A darkened bar
An old guitar
A stage that once played host
To all the Delta greats and now
to Robert Johnson's Ghost

An old man
His spitting can
A boy from up the coast
Learning how to play the blues
In the home of Johnson's Ghost

You gotta feel the music boy
You sure don't feel too much
Your fingers skipping half the notes
You're playing double dutch
Slide it, let the music meld
That's what folks all want the most
You got to feel it, yes sirree
Like Robert Johnson's Ghost

Five hours passed
Time went fast
But what he learned the most
Was feel the notes
That were wrote
By Robert Johnson's Ghost

The spirit has to fill you
You have to suffer for the blues
You can't come in and play for us
In shiny, brand new shoes

The old man
his spitting can
Made the young boy cry
He played the notes
That Johnson wrote
on the day that Johnson died

Until you feel the music boy
And stop playing double dutch
You got to slide the fingers son
Don't use the guitar as a crutch
Remember where you're playing
And to who it still plays host
You're playing for the netherworld
And Robert Johnson's Ghost

I thought life was a feast
a banquet to sit at and enjoy
but the variety was so small
the feast - fast food instead

I've had my fill
don't want to upset the Host
so I nibble on
But I've had my fill...