Copyright
I made a bargain at the crossroads
With that conman we all know.
He might think he’s sealed the deal,
But he’ll never get to spirit me below.
For when he comes to claim his prize
At the fading of the final light,
He’ll find a book of poems
Where my soul used to be,
And I’d made no deal
To sell the copyright.
THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR
OLD NICK
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