The Ghost Gets Made

Take this photograph boy, capture the memory.
Life in several dimensions, trapped in your plastic toy.
Is my mind just the same, just a vessel for storage?
If I don't want to know, can I just press the off switch?
Every action we take it gets stored all around us.
Like a lake full of ripples, we move through the surface.

My eyes they see all there is,
Committing memory to disk

Day after day, in a different way, a spirit made.
A voice in the dark, electrical spark,
It gets replayed.
The footsteps you hear,
The whisper, the fear,
The ghost gets made

Listen hard in the dark, you'll feel the ypices of spirits.
It's a recording for you, tune it in and you'll hear it.
Magnetic forces are working, storing your progress.
You get old and you die, you leave a digital fortress.