Once a year we celebrate the tales of the dead.
An ice pick in the chest or an ax through one's head.
****** tales and make-believe are best shared with teeth rotting sugars until this horror-happy day leaves.
A chain saw to cut up another victim to prepare the night's feast
Follows a scream full of fear and the chase of a murderous beast.
We all become actors in Halloween celebration...
So dust off your spell books and conjour up some fun conversations.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 12:49 AM UTC
Once a year we celebrate the tales of the dead.
An ice pick in the chest or an ax through one's head.
****** tales and make-believe are best shared with teeth rotting sugars until this horror-happy day leaves.
A chain saw to cut up another victim to prepare the night's feast
Follows a scream full of fear and the chase of a murderous beast.
We all become actors in Halloween celebration...
So dust off your spell books and conjour up some fun conversations.
Request permission to use this poem