my brain is a road
i walk down every night
past the old house
the old empty house
they say it is empty
but is it?
i should go up
and knock on the door
but i never do
the windows are dark
so it must be empty
but you never know
someone might answer
if i only knock
maybe george washington lives there
or al capone
or charles lindbergh or joan of arc
or my grandmother
you get the idea
but somehow i never do
as i walk on
night after night
in my brain
across the long moon
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