The Rotting Black Box

There is a box, a black, damp, moody box.
It hisses. It screams. This little black, rotting box.
But it has been opened. Why, oh why has it been opened?
Unleashed the horror from within upon the earth.

Is there any way, anyway at all, to put the contents back,
Back into this little black, rotting, damp box.
This box that has caused so much hurt, so much pain,
So much anger and frustration. This damn box,

This damn box, filled with such an awful sight,
An awful noise, who can bare it? Certainly not I,
But yet it is my box. My damp, dark box.
I need it gone, the contents must be put back,

The contents, my thoughts.



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