I don’t know if you sleep on a bed or in a casket.

I don’t know if you have another life or if you lost it.

 

Either way, I know I’m fatherless.

 

Though you’re not dead to me, I’m dead to you.

In your eyes I died before I was born,

In my eyes that makes no difference to you.

 

Since ghosts do not feel, you do not feel.

 

But I feel. I feel your coldhearted ghost hovering over me.

You’re a ghost and I’m ashamed to say you still haunt me.

You’re the ghost, but I’m not real to you.

 

You’re the ghost, but I’m dead to you.

 

I wanted to die, so I could become like you.

I wanted to become a ghost, like you.

I wanted to disappear, like you.

I didn’t want to feel anymore, like you.

I didn’t want to wait anymore, for you.

 

I’m dead to you, but I am alive in Jesus.

 

I stopped waiting for you.

I started waiting on him.

You’re the ghost who’s dead to me.

He’s the Lord who lives for me.

I am not fatherless,

I am adopted—adopted in him.