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I run my fingers on the wall Paint cracked and old I close my simple wooden door The one that never shuts all the way My house will be auctioned off today How long till I have no home Till there is no squeaky bed No place to lay my head I do not want to have to roam I just want to be home
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Written by
steven-paul-klocke-ii
American
Published
Feb 25, 2013
Lines·Words
10·65
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