I’ve switched places with the ghost in my house,
and I do the haunting while she goes out.
My face is grey and my hands are cold,
I don’t count the days because I’ve stopped growing old.
You may think that you’ve seen me, walking around
But I’m afraid it’s really my ghost that you’ve found.
She says it’s been nice to breathe in the fresh air
While I’m slowly fading- oh dear reader, beware:
For my skin has started to wear very thin
And now my ghost has got out, she won’t go back in.