In humble Illionois,
A beaten boy becomes a fiend,
A gift from a sire,
I wish I could yearn for the best,
But alas it did not end well,
Thirty three innocent souls,
Taken too soon,
By a portly smiling man,
Bespite the theatrics and face paint,
Garottes are not magic tricks,
A crawlspace is no place for a party,
And quicklime isn’t punch,
Please my friends,
Behind even a clowns grin,
A demon can hide.


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