Halloween - Fever

I must go down to the shoppe again, to the lonely capes and tights,
And all I ask is a tall hat and a broom to steer my flights,
And the wind's whip and the cat's song and the black sky shaking,
And a gray blur on the moon's face and fire dawn breaking.

I must go down to the shoppe again, for the call of the haunting kind
Is a sad call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a cloudy night with the white spooks flying,
And the dimmed light and the blown screams, and the gloomy crying.

I must go down to the shoppe again to the vagrant werewolf life,
To the tomb's way and the crypt's way where the air's like a dismal knife;
And all I ask is a painful howl from a scowling fellow-specter
And quiet sleep and a sweet rest when the long Eve's over.