On the seventeenth day at the seventeenth hour
I'll put on the kettle and begin to scour
my wardrobe full of nothing to wear
but turbans, tiaras and clip-on hair
which will prove quite useful come this Halloween
when we're posing for the magazine
I've longed to be in all my life
with Jason, Freddy and a butcher knife
balancing a slice of birthday cake
for me to nibble with a yellow snake
draped round back from arm to arm
with an exotic dazzling Indian charm
dangling right in between my eyes
as the birthday song begins to rise
from the glossiest gothic berry lips
framed by velvet hair on skeleton hips
with silver tinkling dancing feet
presenting a fiery birthday treat.
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