On a cold hallowed night on the outskirts of town.
When the mist settles thick on that hollowed ground.
Not much happens it’s really quite boring.
It’s a wonder by now that you’re not snoring.
But through the woods into the valley below.
Next to the willow where the lavenders grow.
You’ll find a crypt of something so vile.
It looks of death and reeks of bile.
It’s a skull and crossbones pirate hat.
I got drunk last night and I puked in that.
I threw it in the crypt cause why the **** not.
It’s not something I want it’s just something I got.
Now if you want to know about that house on the hill.
Does blood pour from the walls and onto the sill?
A child eating demon they say lives up there.
It’s in the clause, buyer beware.
Her name is Charolette and she has eight legs.
She ate all her children. The Bobs and the Pegs.
But I think she was killed by a chick with a broom.
They say it happened in the dining room.
To this very night if the winds should stand still.
And you listen closely to the house on the hill.
You may hear the sounds of children dying.
Running and screaming, it’s terrifying.
Those thousands of spiders just been born.
To their mothers will and her hunger scorn.
I know. I failed. I’m just not a good writer.
But I smoke a lot of *** so I do have a lighter.