https://soundcloud.com/vintage-synth-pads/memories-are-ghosts?si=13d45264ccf045f88789b115105fcf19&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing
When I was a child i lived on an Island.
One day, I was walking the beach around the Island and saw an abandoned mansion.
From the beach to the mansion was a field full of tall grasses, slowing swaying in the warm breeze.
I walked up to the abandoned house, the door was open as if an invitation had been sent.
The first thing I see are wooden legs that had long been left behind by an owner who could no longer use them.
They were an odd thing to see, quietly lying there like an abandoned animal, waiting peacefully for the master to return.
You could feel the years that had passed as the paint was slowing peeling and the kitchen sink drips had turned to rust.
I climbed the stairs to the bed room, passing more wooden legs lying in dark corners.
The master bedroom was dark, it had been occupied not long ago by junkies whose mattresses and needles remained with feces close to each one as if the dreamer couldn't leave the dream.
This was odd, as this long abandoned house was many hours away from any towns so it must have been a hiding place for smugglers.
On the Mantle piece above the fire place was an old black and white photo of a turn of a century soccer team.
In the center of the team was my Grand father whose hair was straight up due to a misguided wind that danced by at the second the photo was taken.
I learned later that the wooden legs were from Doctor Murdock who, as a boy had fallen a sleep in the field outside, hidden by the tall grasses he didn't hear the tracker coming.
He spent his life in that abandoned house and now only the ghost of memories remained.
