Ghost in My Guitar

Ghost in My Guitar

“Ghost in My Guitar”
I see her face in the back of the bar
She left years ago, took my light
Now she lives in the chords I write
Feel her ghost in the way I sing
I fucked it up, I let her go
There’s a ghost in my guitar
I bend these notes, they bleed her title
I play for penance, not for fame
The harmony in every lie
There’s a ghost in my guitar—
We lit up fast, we burned so wild
But I chased the stage, the sex, the scene
Left her cryin’ in nicotine dreams
But she hums along no mter the tune
And every time I fake a grin
There’s a ghost in my guitar
I shred through guilt, I bend through shame
But the notes just bring her back again
The feedback in my heart of stone
There’s a ghost in my guitar—
She said, “You’ll regret it someday,”
Every night
Onstage
I sold my soul for songs and shows
And when I hold this six-string tight
It’s her voice I hear each night
Yeah, there’s a ghost in my guitar
And she plays the part too hard
And leaves mascara on the bass
She’s the silence between each note
There’s a ghost in my guitar—
And she’s still the fucking star
She said, “You’ll write about me someday.”
She was right.
And she still stays.
Sixty-four in, and this one hurts more than a ballad should. This one lingers.
Song #65 —crank it, rip it, fuck it. This one’s for the girl who spits glitter and bad ideas, who dry-humps the amp mid-solo, and leaves lipstick stains on every mic stand. She’s not your girlfriend. She’s your groupie disaster in heels, and you’ll write five songs just to forget one night with her.