Amityville

I excel without ever even trying With the slightest little effort of my ghostly charm I've seen grown men give out a shriek With the wave of my hand and a well placed moan I have swept a very bravest of the feet Yet year after year it's the same routine And I grow so weary of the sound of screams and I, yeah

The pumpkin king, I've grown so tired of the same old thing Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones And emptiness began to grow There's something out, therefore from my home Alarmy that I never know To a guy in Kentucky, England and France

And since I am dead, I can take off my head To recite Shakespeare and quotations No animal known with the fury of my recidations But who will ever understand that the pumpkin king? Would tyrants crown if he owns it?