The ghost of yesteryear said boo,
and I said whoo!
You don’t scare me no more,
you scrawny mongrel of deceitful past,
your pointy, bony, ugly fingers of accusation
don’t make you real,
for you are just a spectre of what was, what has died,
and what has been buried.
Begone! Oh ye bag of bony lies;
for the word says;
“that he who the son has set free, is free indeed”
Freedom is mine!