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Friday, The 13th
Friday, The 13th
1 min
197
'Twas Friday, the 13th, the darkest day,
With the sky shrouded with black clouds.
Screeching bats flew like silhouettes,
The air, oh! Turned a cold shoulder.
With the sky shrouded with black clouds,
The lone lightning bolt revealed,
An old building, dusted and deserted.
Who lived there, everyone wondered.
Screeching bats flew like silhouettes,
Breaking the eerie silence.
The wolves and dogs joined the party,
As they sang the 'Looney' tunes..
The air, oh! Turned a cold shoulder,
As the rusted doors creaked open.
Once again a screeching sound was heard.
This time, of a girl, and wasn't heard anymore.
