Get out of my space
Get out of my home
Get out of my lungs
Get out of my bones
All you ghosts come in reminding me
There is no cure for history

I’ll keep biting
I’ll keep bleeding you
I’ll keep tearing and collecting you
I’ll keep digging
I’ll keep pushing through
Until there’s more of me and less of you

Ghost sick

Get out of my heart
Get out of my head
I cannot think
Among the roaring dead
You are my captors and my disease
So quarantine or set me free

Ghost sick