book made of flesh and bone.
To just lay the sticky labyrinth of my brain out on the grimy floor,
and see the premonitions and instincts float up like steam from a
freshly slit pile of entrails.
But all I get is just a strange feeling, and from that I'm supposed to
work it out.
Like some kind of ancient text, the book of the dead, hieroglyphics,
black magic or something…
Perhaps it would be easier if I dabbled in the occult, which of course
my dark soul is fascinated by, and stems from.
But my mentor come guardian angel, The Ghost, has always steered me
clear of that.
No matter what I follow what i really want to do, it is my purpose, I'm
not here for any other reason…
So whether it means leaving a country, traveling thousands of miles,
leaving a job, going back again.
It's all for one thing. I am meant to make music, and it will be from
the Dark side of the world….
This is the only thing I am certain of, nothing else….
The Ghost That Walks