Or so said the song
As I slipped into a morose mood.
I stumbled down the hall,
Bottle in hand,
Blearily I cursed my ghosts,
Damning them for simply being.
I took another drink of forgetfulness
And tried to forget the past.
But the ghosts cruelly attempted to comfort,
Lovingly inflicting pain.
Another drink from the River Lethe,
And still yet another.
But still my ghosts remain,
Haunting,
Until sweet Oblivion takes me away.