John Wesley Harding - Death of the Ghostwriter

The ghostwriter sits at home
Paid for his trouble
And he's laughing at the light
That shines on fame
Nothing can be shared
He's no-one's equal or double
Money talks
And no-one ever says his name

She signs every book
With a flourish of fulfillment
And some red ink from a pen
He knew she stole
Now she's on Kaleidoscope
And someone says she's Milton
When she didn't even read the book
Or so he's told

Riding on a ghost train to a ghost town
An of-our-lives-we-made-less-than-the-most-town
Once you get in, you cannot turn around
The ghostwriter's found

So he sits at home
Where he writes his little novel
About the wicked winning out
Without remorse
They find him half-alive
In his half-house that's half a hovel
And his final words are
"Tell her, we are now divorced, of course

Hey you sad-sack hacks
And all you back-room boys beware
They'll buy you up
Like diamonds and fur
Then spit you out like coffee grounds
That fell through the filter
And say "The book could not have been written without her"

Riding on a ghost train to a ghost town
A Your-check-is-coming-in-the-post-town
Once you get in, you cannot turn around
She has found

The ghost of the ghostwriter
Noticed by no-one
It was his choice
So he's paying for it now
Deadlines and death taxes
All that's waiting for us
Wake up and sell the coffee
Milk the profits, kill the cow
It's coming on 2000, lads
Anything's allowed (And how)

(Your life is turning into toast town)

Written by:
WESLEY STACE

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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