It sees through skulls,
It drinks the bricks,
It talks to giant eels,
When it's not busy doing that
It wonders if it's real,
It's hell-bent,
It's translucent,
Sometimes it's just gross,
You're looking at one hundred percent
Pure solid ghost

It wanders in and we walk out,
It wonders what it is,
It embarrasses its closest friends
'It's not mine, it's his'
Its smiles are made of cardboard and
They come off in the rain,
Do we really have to hear it say 'hello',
Again?

It seems there is life after death!
I propose a toast:
To one hundred percent
Pure solid ghost

What living thing could exude such a vacuous aura?
The beer goes sour, it kills the flowers,
It talks about the past,
Sunshine groans in the arc of its eyes,
I wish it would die,
At last

It doesn't eat
It doesn't sleep
It waits for the day to end,
It hates the night the most,
It can't excrete,
It doesn't want to fuck,
It's no less than one hundred percent
Pure solid ghost

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