• One of many

    There are few who'd deny, at what I do I am the best
    For my talents are renowned far and wide
    When it comes to surprises in the moonlit night
    I excel without ever even trying
    With the slightest little effort of my ghostlike 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 very bravest off their feet

    Yet year after year, it's the same routine
    And I grow so weary of the sound of screams
    And I, Jack, the Pumpkin King
    Have grown so tired of the same old thing

    Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones
    An emptiness began to grow
    There's something out there, far from my home
    A longing that I've never known

    I'm a master of fright, and a demon of light
    And I'll scare you right out of your pants
    To a guy in Kentucky, I'm Mister Unlucky
    And I'm known throughout England and France

    And since I am dead, I can take off my head
    To recite Shakespearean quotations
    No animal nor man can scream like I can
    With the fury of my recitations

    But who here would ever understand
    That the Pumpkin King with the skeleton grin
    Would tire of his crown, if they only understood
    He'd give it all up if he only could

    Oh, there's an empty place in my bones
    That calls out for something unknown
    The fame and praise come year after year
    Does nothing for these empty tears

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