I hear it when you dial: a sigh behind your smile. I read it on your tongue: bitter words for anyone who tries to help. We wonder why you won't dispense with your carefree words When they just don't ring true anymore. The ghost of a Christmas past in the parking lot Of a closed ninety-nine cent shop. He showed you in at least a dozen ways That they don't reward brave displays. They smile to your face. They snicker to your back. Oh, I hate to be the one to tell you. Have you ever been so lost? Have you ever really lost your way around a tired town? Around a tired job? Around a low-end life? The ghost of your Christmas past Has no use for fear Or regard for the time of year. I hear it when you dial: a sigh behind your smile. I read it on your tongue: bitter words for anyone who tries to help. We wonder why you won't dispense with your carefree words When they just don't ring true anymore.