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That long empty shop where they used to cut hair
Where all that remains is an old barber’s chair
The creak of the hinges might give you a scare
Should you care to recall what they say occurred there

The power’s been cut which he didn’t know
The candle he found gave a dull feeble glow
There must be a draught for a sound from below
Sounded so much like a voice saying Go

The keys he’d picked up from the real estate feller
Did not include one that would unlock the cellar
So just for the hell of it he turned the handle
The draught spoke again and it blew out the candle

Outside a car passed the open front door
It’s lights caused a glint on the dust covered floor
In the dust was a key and he got quite a shock
When the power came on and the key’s in the lock

The front door slammed shut which at least stopped the draught
But the cellar door opened… and somebody laughed
So with his pulse racing he made his way down
Was he mad to open in Olde London Town

He glared at the sight of four wide open freezers
Each packed with the remnants of dismembered geezers
Were his friends having a Halloween laugh
Or was that them chopped up in that old tin bath

Those stories weren't true but made up for a lark
And yet he still froze when the whole place went dark 
There’s no way that this shop was once Sweeny Todd’s
But a voice in the dark chuckled… ‘What are the odds?’

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