On this hallowed eve,
There's no time to grieve,
For those who may encroach,
Upon this house,
A dismembered house,
A house of stern reproach.
The house that sleeps all through the year,
Awakens to curse in creaks
To sit and watch for those who dare,
To seek a trick or treat.
The pumpkins in the window,
Coax in these fearless souls,
But look a little closer still,
And there's brains behind those holes.
The stitch is rich with human blood,
Where scooped an awful sight,
The pulp and seeds and pumpkin pith
Seeps out pink candlelight.
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