Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.

I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⢶⣦⡀
⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠟⠷⠆⣠⠋⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿
⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡿
⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣷⣦⣀⣠⣾⡿ ㅤㅤ
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢿⡿⠟
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⢦⡀⠇⠀⠀⣀⠞⠀⠀⠘⡀⢀⡠⠚⣉⠤⠂⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢦⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠉⠒⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⠔⣉⠤⠒⠒⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⣤⠶⠶⢶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡆
⠀⣀⠤⠒⠒⢺⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠊⠀⢸⠀⡿⠀⡀⠀⣀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇
⠈⠀⠀⣠⠴⠚⢯⡀⠐⠒⠚⠉⠀⢶⠂⠀⣀⠜⠀⢿⡀⠉⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠟
⠀⠠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠂⣴⠒⠒⣲⢔⠉⠉⣹⣞⣉⣈⠿⢦⣀⣀⣀⣠⡴⠟

⠄⠄⠄⡠⢄⣒⣠⣤⣔⣒⠠⢀⠄⢀⠠⠐⠂⠉⠉⠁⠄⣒⡀⢄⠄⠄⠄
⠄⡠⣪⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣕⠁⠄⣀⣤⣤⣄⡀⠄⠈⢻⣷⣌⢂⠄
⠰⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠄⠄⢿⣿⣧⢂
⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⢠⠞⠉⠁⣰⡟⠉⣿⣿⠄⠄⢸⣿⣿⢸
⢃⠻⠛⠛⢉⠡⠄⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠸⣷⣶⡾⠿⣇⠄⠘⣿⠄⠄⣾⣿⡿⠸
⠈⢄⠄⠄⠕⠂⠄⠨⠅⠄⠄⠄⠄⢸⡿⠶⢶⣿⣿⡾⠋⠄⠄⠈⠙⠣⠃
⠄⠈⠢⡀⠄⠄⠉⠄⠐⠂⠄⠄⡄⡿⠄⠄⢨⣿⠏⢠⠄⠄⠄⠄⠔⠁⠄
⠄⠄⠄⠈⠢⡀⠄⠄⠄⢀⡀⠄⡇⡄⠄⢠⠞⠁⡰⠁⠄⢀⠔⠁⠄⠄⠄
⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⠐⢄⠈⢿⣯⢆⠇⠁⢀⠂⢀⡞⠄⡠⠐⠁⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠑⢌⢻⣯⠄⠉⠁⠄⠜⡠⠊⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠣⡹⣯⣆⠄⡠⠊⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄
⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠪⣛⠧⠑⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄

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　＼二つ

~(^з^)-

i adumbledore you (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

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