Off-Key Poem by Ghost Legend

I'm high past these memories that seem like dreams
They're so low beneath me that I'm flying
Hope's a feverish demon, following me,
Telling me I must be fine.
Why should I believe in the mutterings,
The American things, that no one sees
Till they retire?
I've never seen them, I've never been
A voice in the choir

All I've held close is now gone
The things I dream of
Are my nightmares
I've known for so long
How no one cares
I'm dying