Whiskey Ghost Town

The sound of rain on old tin signs,

A melody for broken lines.

The city sleeps, the moon's hung high,

I play to keep from asking why.

The bass walks soft through empty streets,

Each step a rhythm that repeats.

The bars are closed, but I'm still here,

With whiskey ghosts instead of beer.

The sound of rain, it calls my name,

The bass replies, it sounds the same.

Whiskey ghost town, no one stays,

Just echoes of forgotten days.

Her voice still hums behind the door,

I hear it faint, but not no more.

The thunder rolls, the smoke drifts slow,

I play the song she'll never know.

The sound of rain, it fades away,

The ghosts move on, the lights decay.

Whiskey ghost town, dark and deep,

The blues still play - they never sleep.