Edge of the World

There's a wall of ice where the sun won't go. It's high and

cold and it steals the glow. You can't cross it, can't break through,

a mirror of the unknown staring back at you. And the compass spins like a

whispered spell. North is a pull, but south's a well.

Who are we to question? Who are we to tell? Run around,

feel the joy , chasing shadows, breaking toys. The earth spins

fast, but we stand still at the edge of the world,

bending will. The North's a magnet, it draws you in.