Testo Ghosts At The Door

There's dust in the attic
And ghosts at the door
They're waiting and waiting for something
But no one lives here anymore

Itching like a mosquito bite
I tear my skin to be born again
In this bag of bones I'm a hermit in They say I'm a phantom to the Goulburn boys now
But they're wrapped around my insides anyway

It's like the day we took a bite out of New York's big apple
The last time we breathed that smoky, unfamiliar air
And this could have been anyone
I envy over mountains
But somehow it's only you

There's dust in the attic
And ghosts at the door
They're waiting and waiting for something
But no one lives here anymore