Boo! It’s a Hallow day, zombie-fallow day.
Boo! After Hallow day: nocturne, Hallow slay.

It’s one night that you won’t smile,
with the corpses in a pile.
And protruding are the bones,
ghostly bones, oh dem bones!

Boo! This is not a game—
these creatures surely are not tame.
They’ll drink your blood in bed
and then nosh the brain in your head.

Eat eyes with which you see—
the things on which they dine!
You call this gastronomy?!
They’re malign. . .gorge like swine.

Eat-eat-eat-eat-eat-eat. . . .

I’m looking on biliously
as I observe them dine.
Then they turn their maws toward me,
and I whine, “Ouch, my spine!”

Chewed: a Hallow buffet, I’m between teeth, marshmallow way.
What a shallow cadre: knaves from graves, faces sallow-gray.
They grimace and do not smile,
and their manners are quite vile.
It seems as if they are stoned—
munchies honed, munchies honed.

Eat-eat-eat-eat-eat-eat. . . .