Sitting on a front porch in an old gold-mining town
I sing a song and weave my dreams and watch the sun go down

Down in Oklahoma, under the silk trees
I gather up the seed pods as I climb and skin my knees

Ghosts of me still linger
Ghosts of me still dare
Ghosts of me still whisper
Oh my ghosts are everywhere

In a park in rainy Portland you can hear the endless sound
Of my tennis ball that bounces from my hand to wall to ground

On a trail through Rocky mountains, I make my solitary way
At each new lovely vista, my feet pause but never stay

Ghosts of me still linger
Ghosts of me still dare
Ghosts of me still whisper
Oh my ghosts are everywhere

In the slums of Buenos Aires, I am covered with the mud
Of attempting the impossible through streets now under flood

On a thousand far flung highways, while the music fills the air
I drive and drive and hold his hand and no one else is there

Ghosts of me still linger
Ghosts of me still dare
Ghosts of me still whisper
Oh my ghosts are everywhere