So I dropped off the face of the planet for a while, which really isn’t a big deal since I am often in contact with the members of my loyal readership. Getting back to my imaginary singer-songwriter life, this is a piece I wrote recently, inspired by the death of a grandfather of a friend of mine. I really didn’t know him well at all, so a I said, this is just “inspired” by it… he was from a really small community which I often visited in the summer with my friend.
 
Ghost Town 
 
In the place I was born there stands a fishing boat by the sea    
And that little fishing boat once belonged to me    
And when my days on it  earning my living were done
I passed that fishing boat on to my son
 
Oh the place where I come from is dazzlingly pretty
tucked away from the bustle of the fast-paced city
But nowadays that’s where all the young ones go
where money’s easier to come by and time goes less slow
 
Ghost town, Ghost town
The soil on which I’ve grown
and where I raised my own
is taking its last breaths
Ghost town
 
Well my son still takes good care of my fishing boat
on warm summer days he comes to visit and take it out
to show his daughters the wonders of the sea
the only thing left tying both generations to me
 
And no one’s set foot in this church for many a year
though my children went to mass and were educated here  
And all the faces around me continue to age
when we’re gone there’ll be no one left to turn the page
 
Ghost town, ghost town
the soil on which I’ve grown
and where I’ve raised my own
is taking its last breaths
Ghost town
 
Well when my wife died, under this ground she was laid
I thought back on our lives, hopes, the promises we made
some came true, some were buried with her in the sand
I still remember her fading, the last grip of her hand
 
Well I know that I’ll be joining her soon
I often think about it from the window of my room
Though I can no longer see the beach or the sea
in this resting home, brick’n’stone is all that surrounds me
 
Ghost town, ghost town
the soil on which I’ve grown
and where I’ve raised my own
is taking its last breaths
Ghost town
 
In the place I was born there stands a fishing boat by the sea
and that little fishing boat still belongs to me
but the day will come when it rots and no one will care
except perhaps the ghosts who will still wander there                                                 
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