Mary, shut the garden door Memories, hang them from the arbor; Let them grow again, every now and then.
Heavy lie your eyelids, dearie Mary, rest your bones above me
I'm the ghost of me and time fell short for haunting I'll be present whether you like it or not Yeah, the ghost of me clings I'll be around, just outside of your earshot
Do you... do you remember spring? We would sing songs with our wounded knees
I'm the ghost of me and time fell short for haunting I'll be present whether you like it or not Yeah, the ghost of me clings I'll be around, just outside of your earshot