The ghost in this house you cannot hear,
save for when she whispers into your ear.
The ghost in this house you cannot see,
she flickers, and then disappears.
She haunts me, every day and night,
the sweet-lipped girl in green and white.
And she whispers, "Look to your right",
and there I find her present.
But in the morn, so reassuring,
I shake it off, I call it a dream.
But she does not care what I may think,
the haunter who wanders in white and green.
I don't know what she wants from me,
one would think she'd not want for anything.
The dead should leave the living alone,
but somehow she lives when in my home.
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