Patrick Gallagher: Music

• MP3 play whole song, hi-fi (broadband)
• MP3 play whole song, lo-fi (modem)

I knew a man who was so much of a hermit, that he was almost ghost-like. I found him interesting because he lived the life of a 47 year old monk. He did not own many possessions, had a day job, had no phone, ate like a bird, lived off and on in his car, and had absolutely no friends. He walked the earth like Kane, almost zen-like. About the time I met him, he had just decided to try writing novels. I never got to read any of his work, he seemed to have a tough time picking a subject to write about, and stick with it. He was a kind and gentle man, painfully shy, and sometimes gave my friends the creeps.

Lyrics

In a funny little house out in the ghetto
Lives a funny little man
And he stays inside his house writing things down
Making funny little plans
He’s got a fridge and a cooler, a table and a chair
But no other furniture
And he’s looking out his window, peeking at you
And at your silly little world

Ghost Writer…write….write…..

Eating chicken salad at the Soup Plantation
With a coupon for one
Thinking of a plot, to write a book on
becoming #1
He’s got a fridge and a cooler, a table and a chair
But no other furniture
And he’s digging in the dirt, and peeking at you
And at your silly little world

Ghost Writer…..write…..write……