the ghost guitar I hold for soulless souls               in my empty basement
My singing hits the barren walls and absorbs forever --
           
            The perfect rockstar look --                              my anorexic body         
                                                                                 anorexic for no one

Thus my disease continues.
            for when spiderwebs infect my mind - all will eventually suck

Finger's sliding down strings, plucking to empty dreams

            Skin falling off,
            blood    splurts the floor.
           
Where my fragile frame lingers...
                                                wearing clothes that hang
            [but]
pretending my tight pants and small, cool looking black tee
will get the groupies grouping me

Alas, my black-dyed hair died simply for me.

Ghost guitar strap around my neck,         strangling

            Jaw indents where meat and muscle should be, keep me starving
                                                                                 shadows keep me happy
           
The stage lights come up; shine where upon I stand with my ghost guitar
                                                            in front of the soulless souls

My fragile frame being a state of fragile mind, being a state of the fragile time
            My head hangs low.