Passion is perfect for making you moan I am not like the coward, that left you alone You’re not a God you are somebody’s son How are you not ashamed when you should have had one
Not that it hurts in the back of a van She don’t feel anymore, that’s the price of your hands And you can’t afford to admit you made life Just like you can’t afford to admit to your wife
No you’re not a man, not a memory And no you are better dead You are the ghost of what hurts the most No and better yet You remember what you said, get rid of it You are the ghost of what hurts the most
Secret is safe, you had better believe She has not told a soul, she just left that to me And it beats, beats, beats
No you’re not a man, not a memory And no you are better dead You are the ghost of what hurts the most No and better yet You remember what you said, get rid of it You are the ghost of what hurts the most