ghost writer sits at home,
he's been paid for his trouble
And he's laughing at the light
he's no one's equal or double
Money talks but no one ever
with a flourish of her pen
Now she's on kaleidoscope
and someone says she's Milton
She didn't even read the book
So he's told, he's riding on a ghost train,
Your cheque is coming in the post town,
where he writes his little novel
They find him half -alive in his
His final words are, tell her
He said, hey you sad sack hacks
And all you backroom boys, beware
They'll bar you up like diamonds,
Then they'll spit you out
That fell right through the filter
They'll say the book could never
Have been written without
She's riding on a ghost train,
It's of our lives we've made less
The ghost of the ghost rider's
and he's paying for it now
Deadlines an d death taxes
are all that's waiting for us
Wake up and sell the coffee,
milk the profits, kill the cow
It's coming on 2000 lads,
anything's allowed, and how
We're riding on a ghost train,
Your life is turning into toast town
Once you get in you cannot turn around,