I died, a while ago,
but live on by memory,
of how i used to do things,
and nobody knows I've gone,
which is nice sometimes

But then I start to despise
those who can't see the real
A scornful ghost
Not scaring to impress
Just laughing, ocassionally depressed

Even death is just a joke
For the living blind
And my hatred discovers irony
As my spirit finds a nuanced shade