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There are few who'd deny, at what I do I am the best
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For my talents are renowned far and wide
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When it comes to surprises in the moonlit night
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I excel without ever even trying
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With the slightest little effort of my ghostlike charms
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I have seen grown men give out a shriek
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With the wave of my hand, and a well-placed moan
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I have swept the very braves off their feet
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Yet year after year, it's the same routine
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And I grow so weary of the sound of screams
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And I, Jack, the Pumpkin King
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Have grown so tired of the same old thing
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Oh, somewhere deep inside of these bones
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An emptiness began to grows
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There's something out there , far from my home
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A longing that I've never known
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I'm a master of fright, and a demon of light
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And I'll scare you right out of my pants
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To a guy in Kentucky, I'm Mister unlucky
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And I'm known throughout England and France
|
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And since I am dead, I can take off my head
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To recite Shakespearean qoutations
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No animal nor man can scream like I can
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With the fury of my recitations
|
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But who here would ever understand
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That the pumpkin king with the skeleton grin
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Would tire of his crown, if they only understood
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He'd give it all up if he only could
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Oh, there's an empty place in my bones
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That calls out for something unknown
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The fame and praise come year after year
|
Does nothing for these empty tears
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Jack's Lament
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| The Nightmare Before Christmas |
