A house stands upon a shady hill
Stepping in gives my bones a chill
The lights fail to go on with the switch
At the kitchen stands an old with
Stirring something in a pot of brew
A black cat doesn't purr, whispers "boo"
"Come sit," she says, pulling out a chair
Her cackle gives rise to my every arm hair
She pours some broth in the bowl for me
Three eyeballs float to the top, can't see
Dashing fast, I race to the creaky door
"Wait," she cackles, "don't you want more?"