Besedila: Horse Feathers. As a Ghost.

Any other pales, she was the best type of jail. The rarest gem to find, yet she was the worst of her kind. There's nowhere to hide, memories are there until you die. A clothed youthful dream, undressed by fragile broken seams. It's a shame that I'm alive, then she could love me the most, unless of course I should die young then surely I'd haunt her as a ghost. A farce on parade, with the look of a liar, it's a powerful thing that she preached. A promise not made, with feet to the fire, it's a thing that she held out of reach. I'm caught up in her mane. To quit or carry on is the same. A with like a scar remains. Any other pales, she was the best type of jail. The rarest gem to find, yet she was the worst of her kind. It's a shame that I'm alive, then she could love me the most, unless of course I should die young, then I'd haunt her as a ghost.