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.