Tonight’s the night I dread the most

So I drank some witches brew.

My son can’t wait to wear his mask

And practice saying “Boo!”

And so, I’ll take his little claw

And help him cross the street

So he can join his little fiends

When they go “trick or treat.”

It’s Halloween; the moon is full.

My son can’t wait to howl.

Tonight he’ll cut his vampire teeth

When he goes out to prowl.

If he transforms into a bat

To hang here upside down.

He must not dare to search for blood

Until the sun goes down.

My son is only eight years old,

Undead as he can be.

I pray he’ll never get the urge

To make a meal of me.