I Heard The Ghosts

I heard the ghosts in my wardrobe.
They came from Narnia.
They were nymph-ghosts.
They were not human ghosts.



I heard the ghosts in my closet.
They came from Monsters INC.
They were monster-ghosts.
They were not human ghosts.




I heard the ghosts in my bathroom.
They came from the sewer.
They were turtle-ghosts.
They were not human ghosts.



I heard the ghosts by my bed.
They came from the dead.
They were human-ghosts.
And they scared me to death.
They flew around my fan.
They stepped on my back.
They chilled my spine.
And I don't sleep very well anymore.

Hard To Say, Hard To Tell

It's all kind of all a blur.
But I think I can rememeber some things. Just a few particles of subconscious.
Not all of it, mind you.

But just small fractions of dreams. Or maybe it was all one dream.
Hard to say, hard to tell.

Because there's no way of knowing how long it was. It could be anywhere from all night, six or seven hours, or it could've only been two minutes long.
Hard to say, hard to tell.


Too many times I wake up from them, without really remembering what just happened. It's like amnesia. It's in there, but nowhere to be found.
Probably in that extra brainspace that a scientist said we don't use.
Hard to say, hard to tell.


Maybe I should regulate my sleeping more often. Playing myself to sleep seems to make me peaceful, while Daft Punk and Fear And Loathing' leaves me restless. How can I make my subconscious at ease?
Hard to say, hard to tell.

If I wasn't so alone, I bet I'd be more at home. Be more myself, be more attended to.
And then, I could remember my dreams, for remembering them is the path to make them come true. It'd be a feat to accomplish this.
Hard to say, hard to tell.