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
I have seen grown men give out a shriek
With the wave of my hand, and a well-placed moan
I have swept the very bravest off their feet
Yet mwaka after year, it's the same routine
And I grow so weary of the sound of screams
And I, Jack, the pumpkin, boga King
Have grown so tired of the same old thing
Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones
An emptiness began to grow
There's...
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