There are few who'd 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.
Yet year after year, it's the same routine... And I grow so weary of the sound of screams and I 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 Ionging that I've never known.
I'm a master of fright, and a demon of light and l'II 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...