Ghosts

I'm writing reports of the days and the nights.

Locked up for years in a measure of mind.

When with a net of nothing.

I was trying to catch the motions of a mind.

And the methods of a crime. i never saw the chance.

And never what i held in my hands.

The lights are all red in this town.

Where i'm killed by exhausts.

And alcohols that dry out my skin.

I never had a clue of the role that i played.

But that's the condition and the price that we pay