SpydaBarnes

“I hope this thing is on. I still don’t know how to work it properly." *THUMP THUMPTHUMP THU-THUMPTHUMP* *BREATHING INTO THE MICROPHONE*

At about the age of ten, I saw him once but not again. The man who came from out of town, The man who wore the blood-soaked crown. It was the night of Friday eve, Which from my bed I did not leave. Out my window I stole a glance, And saw him there just by chance. He was tall and thin and made of dark, His mere presence made dogs bark. For from his shape he whistled high, A tune so eerie I can’t deny.