I'm the ghost of a mausoleum,
Pulling open doors,
Sliding out drawers,
And mining the morgue for
Evidence of past wrongdoing.
Who murdered my dreams?
Screams the victim in me,
Drawing lines around crime
Scenes so the body can
Keep the score for as long
As it takes to get to the
Core of it, six feet under,
Burned to ash. Only then can
I cash in on closure's prizes,
Hard-won, but as long as
I win, it will all have been
Worth it.
Light splinters through a
Crack in the door
(How long have I
Been in here for?) and
I walk towards
S o m e t h i n g D i f f e r e n t.
Blades of grass tickle my ass
As I sit against a headstone
In the shade of a sycamore tree
That knew me before birth.
Unearthed, the dirt beneath my
Toenails sings, "Happy Trails to
You" and the name and dates of
What awaits digs into the flesh
Of a back I'd turned on the world
While banging and clanging
The chains of old stories.
If I could rewrite the End,
I'd reckoned, I could live
Forever, clever enough reason
To commit treason on
The eternal souls of those
Dead and gone or long
Moved on from the hallowed
Grounds of childhood cemeteries.
Why was I afraid to leave, too?
What was left for me to do?
I lie down and look up
The powder-blue gown of God's
Dress and feel her climax
On the precipice, hovering at
The edge but never flowing
Over. Dappled sunlight plays me
Like an organ untouched by
Corruption of church, state,
A clock too late to the game,
Dancing across mountain ridge
Cheekbones, cavernous eyes,
Cupid's bow lips that shot arrows
Dipped in honey and lyes.
The snake in my spine undulates
And sends waves of frequency
To areas of my galaxy that
Have become comfortably numb.
They turn on, I get turned on,
Blood flows from the river of
Dreams where I fly
Not as a ghost but as a
Woman unafraid to be seen,
As I am now, in all my
Almost-forty glory.
"I get better with age,"
I say to my grave, name
And dates unchanged but
Etched with a lighter hand
And a wider span of
Life lived in between.
Finding my feet, sweet
Dirt unearthed beneath me sings,
"Happy Trails to you,
Until we meet again."
Britt Warner - Forest Lawn (live from the Lilypad) Lyrics
Britt Warner - Forest Lawn (live from the Lilypad) Lyrics
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We currently do not have these lyrics.
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I'm the ghost of a mausoleum,
Pulling open doors,
Sliding out drawers,
And mining the morgue for
Evidence of past wrongdoing.
Who murdered my dreams?
Screams the victim in me,
Drawing lines around crime
Scenes so the body can
Keep the score for as long
As it takes to get to the
Core of it, six feet under,
Burned to ash. Only then can
I cash in on closure's prizes,
Hard-won, but as long as
I win, it will all have been
Worth it.
Light splinters through a
Crack in the door
(How long have I
Been in here for?) and
I walk towards
S o m e t h i n g D i f f e r e n t.
Blades of grass tickle my ass
As I sit against a headstone
In the shade of a sycamore tree
That knew me before birth.
Unearthed, the dirt beneath my
Toenails sings, "Happy Trails to
You" and the name and dates of
What awaits digs into the flesh
Of a back I'd turned on the world
While banging and clanging
The chains of old stories.
If I could rewrite the End,
I'd reckoned, I could live
Forever, clever enough reason
To commit treason on
The eternal souls of those
Dead and gone or long
Moved on from the hallowed
Grounds of childhood cemeteries.
Why was I afraid to leave, too?
What was left for me to do?
I lie down and look up
The powder-blue gown of God's
Dress and feel her climax
On the precipice, hovering at
The edge but never flowing
Over. Dappled sunlight plays me
Like an organ untouched by
Corruption of church, state,
A clock too late to the game,
Dancing across mountain ridge
Cheekbones, cavernous eyes,
Cupid's bow lips that shot arrows
Dipped in honey and lyes.
The snake in my spine undulates
And sends waves of frequency
To areas of my galaxy that
Have become comfortably numb.
They turn on, I get turned on,
Blood flows from the river of
Dreams where I fly
Not as a ghost but as a
Woman unafraid to be seen,
As I am now, in all my
Almost-forty glory.
"I get better with age,"
I say to my grave, name
And dates unchanged but
Etched with a lighter hand
And a wider span of
Life lived in between.
Finding my feet, sweet
Dirt unearthed beneath me sings,
"Happy Trails to you,
Until we meet again."
Pulling open doors,
Sliding out drawers,
And mining the morgue for
Evidence of past wrongdoing.
Who murdered my dreams?
Screams the victim in me,
Drawing lines around crime
Scenes so the body can
Keep the score for as long
As it takes to get to the
Core of it, six feet under,
Burned to ash. Only then can
I cash in on closure's prizes,
Hard-won, but as long as
I win, it will all have been
Worth it.
Light splinters through a
Crack in the door
(How long have I
Been in here for?) and
I walk towards
S o m e t h i n g D i f f e r e n t.
Blades of grass tickle my ass
As I sit against a headstone
In the shade of a sycamore tree
That knew me before birth.
Unearthed, the dirt beneath my
Toenails sings, "Happy Trails to
You" and the name and dates of
What awaits digs into the flesh
Of a back I'd turned on the world
While banging and clanging
The chains of old stories.
If I could rewrite the End,
I'd reckoned, I could live
Forever, clever enough reason
To commit treason on
The eternal souls of those
Dead and gone or long
Moved on from the hallowed
Grounds of childhood cemeteries.
Why was I afraid to leave, too?
What was left for me to do?
I lie down and look up
The powder-blue gown of God's
Dress and feel her climax
On the precipice, hovering at
The edge but never flowing
Over. Dappled sunlight plays me
Like an organ untouched by
Corruption of church, state,
A clock too late to the game,
Dancing across mountain ridge
Cheekbones, cavernous eyes,
Cupid's bow lips that shot arrows
Dipped in honey and lyes.
The snake in my spine undulates
And sends waves of frequency
To areas of my galaxy that
Have become comfortably numb.
They turn on, I get turned on,
Blood flows from the river of
Dreams where I fly
Not as a ghost but as a
Woman unafraid to be seen,
As I am now, in all my
Almost-forty glory.
"I get better with age,"
I say to my grave, name
And dates unchanged but
Etched with a lighter hand
And a wider span of
Life lived in between.
Finding my feet, sweet
Dirt unearthed beneath me sings,
"Happy Trails to you,
Until we meet again."
Writer: Britt Warner
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid