you and the ghosts

my friend sees ghosts all the time in the sky and in the corners of the room
he says, "you may think that i'm crazy, but it's dead wrong to assume.
just cause a man sometimes sees what he sees, keeps a knife or two under his bed
doesn't mean sickness, perhaps he's a prophet, confused or maybe even a little bit sad.
it don't mean he'll hurt you, it don't mean he'll cry, cause his tears dried up long ago.
and you're all the people he talks to, that is you, only you, and the ghosts."

he says, "i'm so sick of all these women who want to know and to own me too,
and one day when i know better, i'm going to marry you.
you're only so lonely cause i'm not around, you poor, sweet, sad little thing.
my ghosts have been saying to give it all up, all my drugs and my drink, take that money and buy you a ring.
i usually do what they say, cause they keep me so safe, but i don't really want to get that close.
still you're all the people i'm loving, that is you, only and the ghosts.

he says, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, so that's what i'll do." but it don't sound like a joke.
still he laughs when he cries and he looks in my eyes and he smiles through a ring of smoke.
"if your friends weren't so crazy, just think about all of the things you could do with your time-
catch up on your reading, and keep your house clean, take up hobbies and interests and leave all their worries behind.
but life ain't so simple, and people are weird, and that's everything i know.
still you're all the people i'm trusting, that is you, only you, and the ghosts-
you, only you and the ghosts.