Ghost

I’ll return time and again
to the door we entered in
no regrets, Mr. Dissident
I see so now I know
I see so now I know
I’m a ghost, I’m a gardener
I’m lost in the room
I am lost with you, I’m lost
I’m a ghost of a gardener
my rows of thistle bloom
I pick them for you
quiet now, let’s go to rest
on the bed of lilies I planted
of course they didn’t take
but a fine bed they’ll make
my dreams full of dirt & you
my dreams of dirt and you
I’m a ghost of a gardener
and my rows of thistle bloom
I pick them for you
I pick them for you
someday when my eyes are clouded white
I’ll see this clear
I will see this clear
and when my hands are gnarled and tired
I’ll lift this up
I will lift this up
and then when my body’s
gone gone gone
I’ll become the ground
I will become the ground
and the lilies, they’ll be blooming
and the garden, a belly-full
and the willow, bent for weeping
and I’ll see this done
I will see this done