Come on Milhouse, there’s no such thing as a soul! It’s just something they made up to scare kids, like the Boogie Man or Michael Jackson. Bart Simpson




The Wild Boogie Man


The light of day fades in the sunset
The wild child crouches in the bushes
Waiting for his childhood friend to wander into view


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I grabbed the torch one real dark night
and bolted down the yard.
The shadows stretched their long dark arms,
my heart was beating hard.

Mum said there were no boogie men
but I was not so sure.
The wind was howling through the trees
as I ran for the door.

I shone the torch across the seat
then shone it up the wall.
I’d hate to get a spider bite
or see things creep and crawl.


When I was sure that it was safe
I’d hurry up and go.
Then I was done. I’d check again
for any deadly foe.


I made the dash back to the house
the devil at my heels,
and once inside I’d slam the door.
You don’t know how that feels.

One freezing, rainy, winter night
scared, I used a bucket.
When morning came I’d empty it,
I’d just go and chuck it.

Alas, when I woke up next day
forgetting it was there,
I kicked it over spilling it
and cried out in despair.

I sure am glad that things have changed
in places we reside,
’cause I’m not frightened anymore.
The outhouse is inside.

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