Like a macabre dance,
Of the living dead,
The skeleton walks,
Held by an unseen thread,
With rattling bones,
And shaky head,
No skin to hold him in,
No organs need fed,
Into the night,
His evil to spread,
To scare a child,
Or an adult instead,
Sleeping peacefully,
They are startled in bed,
Screams pierce the air,
Small faces full of dread,
No normal means,
Can kill these dead,
Sharp knives useless,
As are bullets of lead,
Swords of steel,
And arrowheads,
Nothing that pierces,
Skeletons can't be bled,
They must be crushed,
To break that magical thread,
Broken into pieces.
The bones to be spread.
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@Augustus
I'll probably never grow up and I'll definitely keep making mistakes in life. So I may as well enjoy it!
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