Like ghosting of a landscape that obscures the forward path
Which is ghost and which is real is in the aftermath
The spectre of what there could be
Instead of beast's insanity
Is only part of all I see
The aching of once flexing bones
The fading of the crowns and thrones
Has followed close upon the heal of tones
The ancient felt that life is more
As if to settle some old score
And, once again, the lion's roar
When you see through life with such precision
It seems as if a form of double vision
On occasion, it breaks my heart
Which is ghost and which is real is in the aftermath
The spectre of what there could be
Instead of beast's insanity
Is only part of all I see
The aching of once flexing bones
The fading of the crowns and thrones
Has followed close upon the heal of tones
The ancient felt that life is more
As if to settle some old score
And, once again, the lion's roar
When you see through life with such precision
It seems as if a form of double vision
On occasion, it breaks my heart
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