Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Some Kind of Ghost
  • Some Kind of Ghost
  • Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
  • Specter At The Feast

Down two crossroads you lay.
Sweet lord, I’m comin’ home to stay.
Sworn your last turn thrown.
Sweet lord, I’m comin’ home for good.
Oh, whoa, sweet lord I’m comin’ home.

The sweetest souls get their fill; if you tell me the best, know your number, chill.
Famous name they got paid; sweet lord, it’s written on their face.

Oh sweet lord, come home; don’t feel like some kind of ghost.