Whose ghost is that? Where does it go?
When it is sad, it cries hello.
It lurks in the dark, looking at you.
When you see it, you’ll cry too.
Not of happiness, not of pain,
Not about the thunder, the lightening and rain.
The ghost is fierce, sorrowful and deep,
But it has promises it has to keep,
Until then it shall not rest,
It lies in bed, clutches its chest.
It rises from its bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in its head,
Its time has come, heaven awaits,
It stands there looking at the gates.
Among the clouds, with his family at last,
Now he may rest, and forget his past.