You're a ghost writer paperback
you call my phone but I don't call you back
I believed you when you said, you said i need you
and everyday you write the book
with a couple of grins and a dirty look
why'd you keep me holdin' on?

So I'll scratch you off my list
burn down that famous script

I know, I know you believe in "How People Grow"
and I know, I know I can't fall apart everytime
you were everything, hands off, three sheets to the wind
I'm a cut up, you're a ghost town, you're the bright lights
when the lights go down on me

Typewriter clicks out S.O.S.
trying to write this shit off my chest
count the days till I get some rest
How's it feel to be on your own?
and i'm not calling you now
tell me how you feel about that?