You're not really there
A ghost of forest wood
And other pointless things
That did you good
Odd things that stand out
Like splinters in skin
A lingering pain
Held together with pins
So, why does it burn
When you walk away?
Some sick stomach turn
Spitfire in the grey
You're not really there
Just a lingering smoke
From a clove cigarette
Left to sputter and soak
Standing out in the rain
Or in the corner of my eye
I'm scared that you are
I'm following lies
So, why does it burn
When you walk away?
Some sick stomach turn
Spitfire in the grey