No, we aren't ghosts. Even ghosts have a home to haunt. No, we aren't ghost. We open doors and we shed our skin. Still and freezing we can see out breath. Tom told me that the drive was short but the tank is empty. (cold concrete and basements.) We echo in our haunted words. The strings are fire, the bass is roaring, the beat carries us on. If our bodies weave into the ground that they stand on we cannot fall down. As we slowly push the earth into itself it collapses us and we take photos to remember how great it was to be children or forgotten faces in the backgrounds of your lives. We've all been relatives or coworkers. We've all been forgiven as we slowly push the earth into itself. We take photos. The song plays on but the record's cracking. The house is gone but the floors are creaking.