The Haunt

     You see the little box you place bits of your heart,

They ain’t the cure for your soul turning hard,

     You see the Polar Bear

Eating her young to survive,

They won’t fuel your car

When the oil has dried and,

     Being blind to the world

Passes the boy on the beach,

Dead in his skin,

Drowned and condemned

And spent so cheaply,

     So chea...

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