Rest your eyes and sleep now, moppet,
for the hour to dread is near.
The Midnight Man can sense you wake,
soon he will be near,
soon he will be here.
Only slumber will save you
from the tormentuous monster.
Cloaked within the shadows,
he will steal up softly.
With long, bony, clawed fingers,
he will pluck out your eyes slowly.
As you lie bleeding and blind,
squalling and pleading,
he will rip out your tongue,
and chew it like gum.
Then your bones he will snap,
from your legs to your arms,
and as you lie blind and broken,
writhing in agony,
his jaw will unhinge to an impossible length,
your tortured soul now ever so tender,
now so acquiesced, and ever so ripe.
His for the taking.
Swallowing you whole, ending his barbarous ache.
Alas, my dearest child, finally you sleep.
I too may now rest, as the time is late,
and as I lie upon my bed,
there falls upon me a sudden sense of dread.
From the darkest corner of my room,
something stirs in the shadows.
The Midnight Man has come for me,
in this late hour.
