Ghosts crying

One day I was walking down
The street of my childhood
It seemed like there was no one else around
I walked the well known pavements
Of my neighborhood
And my footsteps were the only present sound

I turned left at the end of an alley
Near the old elm
I looked upon the wooden creature
And he looked down on me
He knew where I was going, and I didn't tell
I passed the rusty gates of an old cemetery

All of a sudden, the giggling breeze
Turns into the lament of the dying
I could hear the wails, yet I couldn't see
But I knew for sure that ghosts were crying

It was one December eve
When fog lays all around
Once again, as usual
I went out for a walk
I took the well known path
Near the burial ground
And once again I heard
The most unusual talk

I wasn't scared
As it was familiar voice
I dared not to look
I didn't push my luck
But magic pulled me by the sleeve --
Made of steam and moist
And as I opened my eyes I was stuck!

The tombs were open
As well as all the coffins
No names on the gravestones
No crosses in the ground
And all that was left
Was fog that was soaring
The fog was made of tears, I found

Cold tomb, is now my room
Of slow decay, or so they say
All turns to dust
All turns to dust

But my last wish, if anyone can hear
To become a tear
The teardrop is clear
The teardrop is clear

I'm not the filthy dust
I won't go down and rust
The water goes around
From cloud to soil, beneath the ground

The spring of eternity
And for a second in a living cell
And across the galaxies
Way beyond the earthly hell

My soul is the teardrop
In the vast oceans of lifetime!