Carraway
Ghosts At The Door
There's dust in the attic
And ghosts at the door
They're waiting and waiting for something
But no one lives here anymore
Itching like a mosquito bite
I tear my skin to be born again
In this bag of bones I'm a hermit in
They say I'm a phantom to the Goulburn boys now
But they're wrapped around my insides anyway
It's like the day we took a bite out of New York's big apple
The last time we breathed that smoky, unfamiliar air
And this could have been anyone
I envy over mountains
But somehow it's only you
There's dust in the attic
And ghosts at the door
They're waiting and waiting for something
But no one lives here anymore
From Letras Mania