Double, double, toil and trouble.
Fires and cauldrons bubble.
Today's the day that evil doubles.
Friday the 13th, you're in for trouble.
Don't let it slip, don't think it'll slide.
'cause in this world, you cannot hide.
From what, they say, lies in the closet.
From what, pray tell, lies deep inside.
Spirits rise, and toss and tumble.
Zombies, whose body parts fumble.
Deamons rise to make you stumble.
To take your soul.
To make you crumble.
And thus the mark of superstition,
with myths and legends in its composition.
To take power in this crude position.
For lest we forget our plain intuition.
And stumble thus upon this dark constitution.
So let them curse, bitch or hex.
Or run, lest they be next.
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