Voices

She dances in the world of the dead

A world much for fruitful than the one she is forced to exist in

For they spin her tales of times gone by 

A time I think she wishes she’d known

And she hears disembodied voices and asks me if I hear them too

Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't

But it's easier to tell her no because it feeds the fantasy

And you can tell when it's getting bad again

Because the wishful stares into the distance are a tell all sign

And my dad says that as long as she's happy it doesn't matter

Even if he doesn't believe in it himself

But I often wonder if one day just like my mum

I'll be lost to the voices that we hear in the wind