Dying of thirst, could I still be alive or worse
|
Where was I last, parked on the street when a shadow
|
Was cast
|
Taking me out, a struggle ensued
|
What was that hole in my shirt and the blood that
|
Spilled to the floor
|
Like a dead man's
|
|
Focus is blurred and a voice off camera is heard
|
The lighting's to blame, tell the assistant director
|
The same
|
Pulling away to a final dissolve
|
Soundtrack provides a lush bed of strings
|
Before the screen fades to black
|
And the credits rise above like the soul of
|
A dead man
|
|
-----------------
|
Ghostwriter
|
| Calexico |
