There

are

few

who'd

de-

ny

at

what

I

do

I

am

the

best,

for

my

tal-

ents

are

re-

nowned

far

and

wide.

When

it

comes

to

sur-

pris-

es

on

a

moon-

lit

night,

I

ex-

cel

with-

out

ev-

er

e-

ven

try-

ing.

With

the

slight-

est

lit-

tle

ef-

fort

of

my

ghost-

like

charms

I

have

seen

grown

men

give

out

a

shriek.

With

the

wave

of

my

hand

and

a

well-

placed

moan

I

have

swept

the

ver-

y

brav-

est

off

their

feet.

Yet

year

af-

ter

year,

it's

the

same

rou-

tine,

and

I

grow

so

wea-

ry

of

the

sound

of

screams.

And

I,

Jack,

the

Pump-

kin

King,

have

grown

so

tir-

ed

of

the

same

old

thing.

Oh,

some-

where

deep

in-

side

of

these

bones,

an

emp-

ti-

ness

be-

gan

to

grow.

There's

some-

thing

out

there,

far

from

my

home.

A

long-

ing

that

I've

nev-

er

known.

I'm

a

mas-

ter

of

fright

and

a

de-

mon

of

light,

and

I'll

scare

you

right

out

of

your

pants.

To

a

guy

in

Ken-

tuck-

y,

I'm

Mis-

ter

Un-

luck-

y

and

I'm

known

through-

out

Eng-

land

and

France.

And

since

I

am

dead,

I

can

take

off

my

head

to

re-

cite

Shake-

spear-

e-

an

quo-

ta-

tions.

No

an-

i-

mal,

no

man

can

scream

like

I

can

with

the

fu-

ry

of

my

re-

ci

-

ta-

tions.

But

who

here

would

ev-

er

un-

der-

stand

that

the

Pump-

kin

King

with

the

skel-

e-

ton

grin

would

ti-

re

of

his

crown?

If

they

on-

ly

un-

der-

stood,

he'd

give

it

all

up

if

he

on-

ly

could.

Oh,

there's

an

emp-

ty

place

in

my

bones

that

calls

out

for

some-

thing

un-

known.

The

fame

and

praise

come

year

af-

ter

year,

does

noth-

ing

for

these

emp-

ty

tears.