The ghost of a woman walks down Laurel Avenue.
She is singing as she walks, unafraid, unseeing of you.
A body was found in a yard, all those years ago.
Bodies go back to dust, an unquiet spirit doesn’t go.
 She is singing, a ballad of unseen love and adoration.
She is looking for him. He left on her grave a devout decoration.
That was night it was supposed to all begin, but death came.
A man, angry, with a pistol shot her down. He’s to blame.
 The rain won’t touch her, she is unguided by the moonlight.
She is singing, and it’s a sorrowful call, whispering so slight.
The one she loved, is still haunted, still loves her all these years.
But she can’t find him, and her song, and his heart, are full of tears.

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