There’s a ghost in my house

It wanders around in the night,

dragging its heavy feet

I trip over its boots and choke 

on cigarette smoke

My house is a tundra, cold and quiet

There’s a ghost in my house

It slams doors when it’s angry 

and disappears when it’s sad

Sometimes, when it’s nowhere to be found, I miss its familiar presence 

But most of the time, I’m under my bed, hiding from its haunting gaze

There’s a ghost in my house

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