A HALLOWEEN POEM

Darkness Falls Across The Land

The Midnite Hour Is Close At Hand

Creatures Crawl In Search Of Blood

To Terrorize Y'awl's Neighbourhood

And Whosoever Shall Be Found

Without The Soul For Getting Down

Must Stand And Face The Hounds Of Hell

And Rot Inside A Corpse's Shell

The Foulest Stench Is In The Air

The Funk Of Forty Thousand Years

And Grizzy Ghouls From Every Tomb

Are Closing In To Seal Your Doom

And Though You Fight To Stay Alive

Your Body Starts To Shiver

For No Mere Mortal Can Resist

Michael Jackson's checkerboard penis

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