There are few who 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 see grown men give out a shriek.
With a 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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