Ghost

Verse 1

There’s a mall in my head where the mannequins vote

I scream in the food court—nobody takes note

My timeline’s a landfill of simulated grace

While a feedback god whispers in lowercase

Verse 2

Bureaucrats bloom like mold on the wall

We pledge to the flag in a conference call

Your favorite war has a merch table now

And I still don’t know who wrote the vow

Chorus

Swipe left for the end of days

We dance in a spreadsheet maze

Love me like a failing state

With soft denial and interest rates

This isn’t real, but it’s more than a dream—

We’re ghosts in the vending machine

Verse 3

Sodium skies and fluorescent moons

I pray to the click with a thousand runes

Your soul’s been cached in a server farm

They’ll beta test your nervous charm

Bridge

Cracked smiles in recursive hells

Where truth just pings and never dwells

But I found a map on a glitchy screen

Drawn in crayon, marked “in between”

Final Chorus

Swipe right for a holy glitch

A joke, a cry, a nervous twitch

Code me soft in post-truth light

And hold me through the feedback night

This isn’t hope, but it isn’t despair—

It’s a shrug, a spark, synthetic prayer