Deep beneath the creaking floor,
Lies a treasure with a golden core.
A frog, a statue of cursed desire,
Hard to resist, deadly to admire.
Don't touch it, don't take it home,
Afraid it might break free, alone.
You might end up dead—or worse,
Tiny needles will grant you curse.
You won't believe it until you see,
Or feel what it can do to thee.
It will drive you toward insanity,
Life will become a hellish vanity.
Do not move what you can't control,
It is restless, a forbidden soul.
Locked away from the blinding light,
A monster latching onto the night.