There are ghosts behind every desk I see,
The pale ghosts of us and what used to be,
Slowly fading, they still hearken back to a time,
A time of unrestrained joy, of no reason or rhyme.

The ghosts in the corridors and ghosts in the halls,
The flickering of pale silhouettes on the walls,
The ghost of a laughter that I now long to hear,
But no giggling sound comes vibrating to my ear.

I see the ghosts...