Your hate mailed me love letters
I kept every single note
You said: I want to live in heaven, baby, can you redirect my post?
I was making love with your ghost

So low under the river
In that little wooden boat
You were throwing bodies over
Boy, just to see if they would float
I was making love with your ghost

You would undressed me with your eyes
And I undressed me of my clothes
When your resurrection wood arise
More than just the dead arose
I was making love with your ghost

I am the mistress at your funeral
I am beautifully composed
As they were speaking, there was glass of you
I proposed myself a toast
Well I was making love with your ghost

I was making love with your ghost
Well, I was making love with your ghost