The Candied Treats of the Necronomnomnomicon

A thousand ships are shipwrecked, adrift on stygian shores,

Their billowing sails all stripped and gone, but he’ll need a thousand more,

Until he’s all the white ones, they’re the ones he needs the most –

To sew them in the costume of a thousand-foot-high ghost

He didn’t eat the sailors, he left them all to drown,

He’s saving space for candy which he’ll greedily gulp down,

In his house at R’lyeh, dread Cthulhu is dead keen,

To go out trick-or-treating on this special Halloween.

Shub-Niggurath is coming too, he’s dressing as a bat.

If Hastur’s mum will let him out, he will be wearing that

flat-headed outfit he insists is one of Frankenstein.

“That’s the doctors name”, they all maintain – Hastur’s so asinine.

Yog-Sothoth can’t come tonight, he’s feeling rather peaky,

Stabbed by some investigators, that made him somewhat leaky,

Curse his vulnerability to that damned enchanted sword,

He’s at the local hospital, stuck in Charles Dexter Ward.

It’s a rare old treat for Elder Gods, this special celebration.

Herbert West’s prepared the drinks, a special green libation

“With qualities”, he proudly boasts, “of great rejuvenation”.

(Presented in a punch-bowl full of green illumination).

And if that band of Elder Gods end up upon your street

And you are faced with that grave choice, I urge you to say “Treat”.

Be sure to be insistent as you won’t be asked again –

A trick from Cthulhu and his pals can render men insane.

Halloween ends; Our Elder Gods are all clutching at their chests

To shed this heartburn and belly-ache will take a lengthy rest.

Cavernous bellies full of jellies, candies, chocolate, cake and pie

That, which is now full of sweets, can now eternal lie.