Passion is perfect for making you moan

I am not like the coward, that left you alone

You're not a God you are somebody's son

How are you not ashamed when you should have had one



Not that it hurts in the back of a van

She don't feel anymore, that's the price of your hands

And you can't afford to admit you made life

Just like you can't afford to admit to your wife



No you're not a man, not a memory

And no you are better dead

You are the ghost of what hurts the most

No and better yet

You remember what you said, get rid of it

You are the ghost of what hurts the most



Secret is safe, you had better believe

She has not told a soul, she just left that to me

And it beats, beats, beats



No you're not a man, not a memory

And no you are better dead

You are the ghost of what hurts the most

No and better yet

You remember what you said, get rid of it

You are the ghost of what hurts the most