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Ghostwriter

Dying of thirst, could I still be alive or worse

Where was I last, parked on the street when a shadow

Was cast

Taking me out, a struggle ensued

What was that hole in my shirt and the blood that

Spilled to the floor

Like a dead man'sFocus is blurred and a voice off camera is heard

The lighting's to blame, tell the assistant director

The same

Pulling away to a final dissolve

Soundtrack provides a lush bed of strings

Before the screen fades to black

And the credits rise above like the soul of

A dead man

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