Yum, delicious failure,
So much have I known.
Â
And, after being unwired,
The scribble fell from hand,
To repetitive orchestra moan.
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Now, I'z know ya’ll fearful of dem spiders,Â
But I'z gots ta say, one visited me today,
Creep’n up on my walk’n time a think’n.
And it took a glance ta smile by its eyes,
Dey can be cute in der own delicate way,
Like a jump’n spider’s black ball’n eyes.
Now, many in Kittywoof think spiders need an instant squash’n,
But Ima a Pumpkinhead, and fear’n spiders raised me in my patch,
Oh yes, till I'z rolled free, I'z was a grow’n head of tangled webs ya see.
And spiders, well, dey tan’t so bad, and dey’z usually knows a lot about a thing,
Its cause der always tangled in a fearish web, dats how dey get ta fast a’know’n,
And dez da ones been keep'n dis Kittywoof together while de rest trashed it loud.
A spider is a spiritual be’n you see, more a feel’n of webs than mask’n depths of a soul,
Dats why dey knows what’s go'n on in you, you're tangled, and der webs be tense'n.
Dey are da kindest creatures, so slender and delicate, yet dey can twist you up quick,
So ya gotta watch too, dey like ta send info down der webs, try’n ta get you network’d.
An’ once dey got ya tangled, a live'n feed'n can begin on your soul,
Oh yes, but don’t worry, dey don’t want you dead, quite da opposite,
Dey want you a fresh live'n meal, last'n a long and delicious time,
Dats why you should listen ta em too, dey’ll try extend your lifeline.
A spider can be a cute face,
Its creep can fill you fearishly,
Its webs can wrap you as meal,
Its knowledge refine your soul,
And der tangle can welfare a life.
But, a Creep of Spin'n Spiders,
Well, dat be something else entirely,
And dat be a big problem in Kittywoof.
Knock, knock, Pumpkinhead fool,
Pumpkinhead, can you hear me?
Cause I'z think you're just full of air,
But Ima here ta play a bitter game.
And I'z know it's come'n time of year,
Where pranks and scares abound us,
But why dat spindle swivel'n so weird?
Ah, here jostle'n ta prepare a meal of royal hallow,
Yet dey clack'n dat knee left inta a fearish hobble,
Ohh right, it's just another slender a’creepn spider,
A tangled network of fear, and so hungry, m'dear.
Gots ta worry, Beard's box-dye-black witch's stare is tryn ta cackle my eye insecure,
deGrees keeps an off-knocker Lainey-Bat close handy, twist'n up untied pumpkins,
She's even gots a gassy travel’n broomwagon ta tempt dis tawny’s wistful first date.
Dey try'n ta bag-a-head and bake a dumb a'Pumpkinhead cake!
Dem types always will'n ta shred open up a shrew-looking veg,
And a pumpkin be a fine patch atop a lufty Prince's airhead.
And yet, whenever dey punch at shelled edge,
Smash'n at dis stupid orange, sorelined face,
Der hands only slime of seedy-sticky disgrace.
But Beard deGrees knows how ta shuffle stick a motley hallow crew,
A rabid pack of black and white always been der dull mindless rue,
With bully mouths and secret ears bend'n in a'creeper listen'n way,
And like no haunt'n before, did dey treat on da poor's spiritual sways.
It’s troubl’n too, cause if Fur Pepe Pigeonrat of Rottenseed amoks freely,Â
Ima not too sure anyone will think clearly in such a grand waft'n smellery.
So, gotta tell ya true, dis damn Pumpkinhead is tired of wolfish bully'n ways,
Thou, admittedly, a Beard moans on moon nights, become'n an excitable pup,
But a Pigeonrat only rolls thicker inta sewer shit, plague'n everyone around him.
Best part of be'n a Pumpkinhead used ta be,
You gots ta fill your empty head with anything,
Toxicated on whatever, till it flow'd out ur eyes.
But a rancid raty smell'n is a-come'n,
So I'z gotta mind da patch ta still breath.
And while a night sight'n of a haunt'n can be sumthin daunt'n, come'n at ya all a’sudden,
Dis here Pumpkinhead knows; a roll'n, open-mouthed shit-for-seeds…is frighten'n indeed.
All along, dis dumb Pumpkinhead Twirl only wanted ta spring a field bountiful,
Rest’n growth under da sun, brush’n neighbours, and fruit’n all ova-da place.
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