Bright Red bucket and plastic spade in hand,
Creating his castle, upon inspired beautiful land,
Every object created with purpose, coming from his mind,
The little boys imagination, works to see what it can find,
The spade the main tool, to shape what is made,
And the bucket builds the walls, which will soon fade,
Sand crunches and flows, but forever it cannot last,
For now he creates a sanctuary, to what he learned from the past,
When the sun hits the land until the night becomes the thieve
All the daylight is used, to create in what he will believe,
That his past away parents, are always watching down,
Admiring the castle he built, in which he wears the crown,
It is more than an activity, or a simple means of fun,
He likes to create in the pit, as where else it cannot be done,
This is all he has, no playground, no swing, no slide,
In this empty lifeless back yard, his sand pit is his pride,
I want to get so fucking drunk, that I decide to get stoned, and then get stoned and have meaningless sex.
