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Deviousness |
It's time to be turning in.
It's time to stop putting up a fight,
and let sweet dreams and mem'ries begin.
Ignore the shadows,
Forget the closet,
there's nothing under the bed.
And despite it all, just in case,
Don't become by bedbugs bit.
Listen as the tophat man whistles,
with his musician's pipe.
It's carved out of bleach'd white bone,
and is really quite a sight.
He wears a sash of a smiling face,
His own is in a grin.
But his limbs, says he, are in pain
they feel as if full of large pins.
"Silly me," says the tophat man,
taking off his black top hat.
"I'll just be a moment, give me a sec,
and if you will be so kind, please just hold that."
The tophat man's tophat is now over your head,
and suddenly you realize that it's full of holes.
He pulls the first pins out of his knee,
and his fingers and his toes.
"That's much better, but where to put them?"
asks the tophat man and his foot.
"How convenient, my hat is right there!
Into the sides my pins I'll put."
And as he walks toward you,
and your mouth opens up to scream.
His face becomes a hungry skeleton's,
and his eyes take on a hungry gleam.
The pipe now is abandoned,
a slurping noise now takes the fore.
The bloodied bed is now empty,
the tophat man's limbs, again, are sore.
nuff said