Ghost Town

Silence echoes loudly here,
From this town can come no gain,
But when the living disturb the air,
Days long gone are lived again.

Sounds now fill the empty streets -
A barking dog, a creaky gate.
And little children keep the beat,
With “Dying, crying, concentrate!”

You step lightly, but still they hear.
You’ve woken them; that’s what they hate.
On every corner, they appear.
Watching, waiting, for you to faint.

It slumbers now, the old ghost town.
The spectres resigned to their fate.
But of a night, you can still hear:
“Dying, crying, concentrate!”

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