More tinkering;

"Sleeping With Ghosts" copyright 12/2/2017 by Rich Pirone

I drove back through my hometown, ("old hometown"?)
back to a life that’s vanished and gone. (Delete 'back'?)
I'm stuck knee deep in a mem-o-ry!
I thought had moved on. ("I though I had moved on."

All my old haunts are boarded up, (Flipped these Lines to put that 'imagery' earlier and the 'Conceptual' ideas later.
faint whispers lost to time!
I can see it as clear as day!
It rushes in when I close my eyes! (Rising pitch, emotional intensity, toward the Chorus serves as a Pre-Chorus 'Lift'.)

Chorus:
I'm homesick for a time and place,
that's no longer there. (Or, "that's no longer HERE"?)
I see the one I miss the most!
I'm Sleeping With Ghosts.
I'm Sleeping With Ghosts.

Fam’ly and friends who have passed on,
roam streets I used to tramp til dawn,
My hallowed nights of misspent youth;
I'm the one they left their mark on!

Chorus:
(Second giving of the Chorus, for Structure listeners can relate to. Going to a Bridge here would be a 3rd Melody in a row, a Structure that might be hard for them to relate to.)
I'm homesick for a time and place,
that's no longer there.
I see the one I miss the most!
I'm Sleeping With Ghosts.
I'm Sleeping With Ghosts.

Bridge:
I turn down a familiar street, (Happening 'now', present tense, as opposed to past tense.)
to an old flame’s house. (Or, "to MY old flame's house.")
I don’t know what I hoped to find,
thinkin’ I could fix the past somehow,
and make it work out right this time! (This has the 'pivotal' Idea a Bridge should have.)

Chorus: (Third giving of the Chorus, six 'hits' on THE Hook, the Title Line, driving it home as the main Idea.)
I'm homesick for a time and place,
that's no longer there.
I see the one I miss the most!
I'm Sleeping With Ghosts.
I'm Sleeping With Ghosts.

The video's getting into my head. That scene in the Bridge, young him, his memory of coming by her house on a corner, in his car, young her sitting on the front steps.
He pulls in around the corner as she runs across the lawn to him, leans on the passenger side door, talks, opens it, gets in.
And then the real-time, her, aged like him, sitting on the front steps, him grinning, pulling in around the corner, her coming across the lawn, slowly, but grinning.

There will always be another song to be written. Someone will write it. Why not you? www.garyeandrews.com