My Own Ghost

I met my own ghost just the other night

In a quiet little club out on the edge of town

Just this side of Sunday morning coming down.

It was quite a sight.

Just a road musician passing through this way.

At first I didn't recognize me. People seldom do.

You don't go around expecting to be running into you

Everyday.

It was thirty some odd years ago.

I still recall the day

He was just a kid with all those dreams,

But I needed steady pay.

And I didn't mean to kill him,

But I couldn't be that free.

Now I wonder if he might have been

The better part of me.

Now it seems that he's been aging just like me.

I saw a few lines in his face that you won't find in mine.

They tell of troubles that he's been through, but also of good times

I'll never see.

And his songs are telling stories that aren't mine

Of all the places that he's been, people that he's known

Changes that he's gone through; what he's learned and how he's grown

Over all this time.

And some of those old dreams

Still haunt me to this day.

They were his dreams, yes I know

But I loved them anyway

And I didn't mean to kill him,

But I couldn't be that free.

Now I wonder if he might have been

The better part of me.

I met my own ghost, just the other night

And I hope he understands, I hope that he can see

That I couldn't live his kind of life. It just wasn't meant for me

And I hope he's all right.