He wasn’t born a ghost, that isn’t how ghosts go, and Casper is the ghost of a kid who died, but doesn’t know, but doesn’t know, but doesn’t know.

He died young, watching Hobo Kelly on TV.
He died young, dreaming of lots of things to be.
He died young, closing eyes to life that lies ahead.
He died young, ceasing breathing dreams of genius flare

Sitting up in bed, from a fever spell he sees the snow, which with its glow, looks more like clouds that fell, like clouds that fell, like clouds that fell

He died young, why is everybody way down there?
He died young, why does everybody feel like air?
He died young, why does everybody move so slow?
He died young, why won’t anybody say hello?

Looking at the sky, searching for some ground, he’s sure he had a mom and dad, but they’re nowhere around, nowhere around, nowhere around.

He died young, why is it so quiet everyday?
He died young, why does everybody run away?
He died young, why is everybody so afraid?
He died young, why does everybody have to fade?

He wasn’t born a ghost, that isn’t how ghosts go
He dreams within, what might have been, but then he’ll never know, he’ll never know, he’ll never know

He died young