Eight

Now there's
Eight midgets at my door,
Pounding and hollering,
"Do you want more?"

I step back in fright
At this gruesome sight,
Like hungry tiny zombies
In the darkest night

So, what'll it be tomorrow?
Nine dancing ninjas?
All in paisley
Pajamas?

Better load my shotgun
Before they get to ten,
Stick my arm in the ammo box,
Where I've never been...

No ammo, I never had any...
Guns scare me so,
And why people have them,
Now I know....

Oh, well,
I'll load it with last week's meatloaf,
That'd scare anyone off,
Just the smell
Can make you cough...

Hope these ain't rotten- meat
Craving beast
Or I'll load it with flour
And yeast

That'll get a rise out of them
Or maybe they're bakery ghouls,
What then?
Throw at them all my tools?

I ought to move,
This place is scary
All my neighbors
Seem awful hairy

Especially around full moon,
When I', rereading Christy's
The Mystery of Darkness,
Having an ale and bit of carcass,

Oh, yeah,
I get fangs as well
And suddenly I
Have a wolf's sense of smell

I've nibbled on a few
Ex-neighbors,
In spite of all their labors
To keep this wolf at bay,
With favors...

Yes this is living h_ll,
Being a neighbor of
Tom Bell.

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