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 There  few who'd deny, at what I do I am the best
 For my talents are renowned  and wide
 When it comes to surprises in  moonlit night
 I excel without ever even 
 With the slightest little effort  my ghostlike charms
 I have seen grown men give out  shriek
 With the wave of my  and a well-placed moan
 I have swept the very  off their feet
 
 Yet year after year,  the same routine
 And I grow so weary  the sound of screams
 And I, Jack, the  King
 Have grown so tired of  same old thing
 
 Oh,  deep inside of these bones
 An emptiness  to grow
 There's something  there, far from my home
 A longing  I've never known
 
  a master of fright, and a demon of light
 And I'll scare you right out  your pants
  a guy in Kentucky, I'm Mister Unlucky
 And I'm known throughout England and 
 
 And since I am  I can take off my head
 To recite  quotations
 No animal nor man can scream like  can
 With  fury of my recitations
 
 But who here would ever 
 That the Pumpkin King  the skeleton grin
 Would tire of his crown, if they  understood
  give it all up if he only could
 
 Oh, there's an empty place in my 
 That calls out for  unknown
 The  and praise come year after year
 Does  for these empty tears