Some Kind of Ghost
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Some Kind of Ghost

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.