Ghosts Crying

One day I was walking down

The street of my childhood

It seemed like there was no one else around

I walked the well known pavements

Of my neighborhood

And my footsteps were the only present sound

I turned left at the end of an alley

Near the old elm

I looked upon the wooden creature

And he looked down on me

He knew where I was going, and I didn't tell

I passed the rusty gates of an old cemetery

All of a sudden, the giggling breeze

Turns into the lament of the dying

I could hear the wails, yet I couldn't see

But I knew for sure that ghosts were crying

It was one December eve

When fog lays all around

Once again, as usual

I went out for a walk

I took the well known path

Near the burial ground

And once again I heard

The most unusual talk

I wasn't scared

As it was familiar voice

I dared not to look

I didn't push my luck

But magic pulled me by the sleeve --

Made of steam and moist

And as I opened my eyes I was stuck!

The tombs were open

As well as all the coffins

No names on the gravestones

No crosses in the ground

And all that was left

Was fog that was soaring

The fog was made of tears, I found

Cold tomb, is now my room

Of slow decay, or so they say

All turns to dust

All turns to dust

But my last wish, if anyone can hear

To become a tear

The teardrop is clear

The teardrop is clear

I'm not the filthy dust

I won't go down and rust

The water goes around

From cloud to soil, beneath the ground

The spring of eternity

And for a second in a living cell

And across the galaxies

Way beyond the earthly hell

My soul is the teardrop

In the vast oceans of lifetime!