Tonight’s the night I dread the most
So I drank some witches brew.
My son can’t wait to wear his mask
And practice saying “Boo!”
And so I’ll take his little claw
And help him cross the street
So he can join his little fiends
When they go “trick or treat”.
It’s Halloween; the moon is full.
My son can’t wait to howl.
Tonight he’ll cut his vampire teeth
When he goes out to prowl.
If he transforms into a bat
To hang here upside down.
He must not dare to search for blood
Until the sun goes down.
My son is only eight years old,
Undead as he can be.
I pray he’ll never get the urge
To make a meal of me.
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