My ghost story takes place on this very day
A century ago, you hear them they say
At the haunted San Marina hotel in the saddest part of town
One morning dark a shot rang out
Shaking her timbers to her grout
And whole damn world perked up its snout and trained its ears upon the sound
The coroner pronounced a woman dead
With a gun at her feet and a bullet in her head
And they had a body but they never found a name
The clerk said a man checked in before
His book said Jack matched the number on the door
And the hunt was on for the killer who never really left the scene
To this day she and her mystery stand
Of the name of the killer and the murdered and the man
Who now haunts the San Marina historical museum
He’s a bad-tempered ghoul with a jagged form
His hat hides his eyes, his coat scrapes the floor
With an itchy trigger finger for any fool who meets him
“Will you be the one to take him down?”
What starts as a dare between teens in the town
Soon grew into a worldwide bounty on his throat
“Are you man enough? Strong enough?
Brave or just pain dumb enough?
To best the pure machismo of the gunman when provoked?”
Now the ledger’s booked a year in advance
With brave boys seeking frights for their chance
To pull their women close in protective embrace
EMF’s, torches and crosses held high
Conveniently offered in the gift shop outside
For the ghost who slammed doors when you shoved a camera in his face
And they badger him bout the woman found dead
With a gun at her feet and a bullet in her head
If you don’t like our questions then you got something to hide
How could you rid the world of one more pure and fragile flower?
Take a body that wasn’t yours and make it yours?
Now business was booming and profits leapt
And the ghost always performed, he’s easy to predict
Ain’t hard to get good content when your trick is to harass
‘Hundred years later on the very same date
A new challenge steps up to the well-worn plate
Will this boy bag his bounty where “real men” fall on their ass?
They hate him for the color in his hair
The piercing in his nose and the patches he wears
They say “there’s no room for pink in the stripes of our ol’ red white and blue”
No punk kid with a five-four frame
Soft face, no gun and no money to his name
Could face their myth of “men were men” they’ve shackled in his room
The boy brought candles and incense
An offering of camel cigarettes
Old eyes light with a flick and the duel has begun
The kid doesn’t flinch, he offers his name
He tells the air the reason he came
And hopes they’ll be good friends before the night is done
He talks of nights crying through the phone
Changing his name and leaving home
Parades and protests, doctors he can’t afford
He tells him who threw that very first brick
And all they've fit in a needle’s prick
The candle brightens as it hears the world he missed outside his door
And at last he asks ‘bout the body found dead
And he’s sorry to replay what’s been too often said-
But what if they just had it all wrong? What if it was just all the same person? And he just, well he was just, you know?
And the police wouldn’t answer questions like they got something to hide
Did you show the world what they did to that soft and fragile flower?
Take a body that wasn’t yours and make it yours?
A cloud of sour smoke is blown
By a sunken face inches from his own
A candle crushed beneath the spirit’s heavy leather boot
His long coat hides his five-four frame
His hat’s shadow hides a softer face
His crooked smile and breathless lips mouth “thank you”
The ghost fades back into a wisp
No bigger than a handkerchief
Which the kid picks up and tucks into an empty Altoids tin
They check out before the morning light
The clerk with her coffee hasn’t left all night
And she puts away the key to room 459 on the hook beside its kin
The pair saddles up for a long ride home
Spot a truck stop to stretch their toes
And share ‘cross a Denny’s booth a grand slam hashbrown plate
The ghost asks the boy if things improve
If our kind gets the kindness they deserve
The kid shrugs and looks for answers in the pepper on his eggs
And he’s asked what about when they find you dead?
With the gun in their hands planted in yours instead?
And if you don’t like their questions then you got something to hide
And if you’re some silver bullet don’t let them stomp your neighbors flowers
You take that body that wasn’t yours and you make it yours
San Marina woke up with no marquee star
Talk of cancelled bookings traveled far
The desk clerk got her 5 minutes on national TV
While our convict sang to the car radio
I’m his mind answers that only he knows
After those hundred years, ain’t he finally owed a little goddamn privacy?