There are few who deny at what I do I am the best

For my talents are reowned 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

And emptiness begins 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 or 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 would 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...