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, year after year, it's the same routine
and I grow so weary of the sound of screams
and I, Jack, the Pumpkin King
have grown so tired of the same old things.
Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones,
an emptiness began to grow.
There's something out there far from my home.
A longing that I've never known.
I'm the master of fright and the demon of light
and I'll scare you right out of your pants.
To a guy in Kentucky, I'm Mr. Unlucky
and I'm known throughout England and France.
And since I am dead, I can take off my head,
to recite Shakespearean quotations.
No animal nor man can scream like I can,
with the fury of my recitations.
But who here would ever understand
that the Pumpkin King with the skeleton grin
would tire of his crown? If they only understood,
he'd give it all up, if he only could?
Oh, there's an empty place in my bones
that calls out for something unknown.
The fame and praise come year after year.
Does nothing for these empty tears.