Half an hour.

The sun is my friend.
I like it when I get burned,
to peel away the skin.

It makes me feel like I could become a different person, if I tried.
There wasn't a hole anywhere.
I'm alive.

But not for long.
The cord wraps around my neck,
a hand over my mouth to muffle my noises.

The church door opens, I stand at the alter.
She walks down the asile.
God, she'd take my breath away, if I had any left.

Don't worry, don't frett,
your secret is safe with me.
You killed your brother,
it was meant to be.

A month has passed, and now it's the date.
The date her and I set.
She's trying not to cry - this, she'll regret.
Marrying someone she doesn't love, just to try and be closer to the dead.

She sees me, standing behind you.
You don't want to do this either.
You plan on bailing, running, hiding, fleeing from the alter.
But she gives me that look, and I can't let you go.

I've got half an hour back, where only those I chose
can see me and respond to me, and everyone else knows,
that dead people are dead,
and ghosts are just a trick.

Half an hour. I could make you confess.
Spill your guts, in front of your wedding guests.
Instead, I'll marry her, on my one last night.
Everyone will think that it's you.
Does that fill you with fright?

I've never seen someone look at me like that,
when she said "I do", and everyone in the room,
thought they were going to burst into tears.
This ceremony was far too soon.

She looked up, and saw right through
I smiled, and watched her smile back.
When I said it too, everyone looked at you.
Let that noose of commitment wrap around your neck.

And tell my fiance.
Yes, tell your wife.
She looked beautiful, dressed in white.