[Crossposted from The Next Hurrah ]
While we wait impatiently for the next day of Fitzmas, here's a little Hallowe'en treat ... themed on the White House (of) Horrors.
To the tune of your favorite things-go-bump-in-the-night music:
Questions hang in the public square.
The piper pipes a morbid air.
He will be paid, and foul is fair,
And the story won't stay buried.
There's a telltale heart in a secret lair,
And a cloven hoof on a creaking stair.
The little man who wasn't there
Bets the story won't stay buried.
One banshee hand of solitaire,
A starving beast, and a pauper's share;
The crone knee bends to the billionaire
But the story won't stay buried.
A squeaky wheel, an empty chair,
And a cabinet in disrepair;
A searchlight flushes the royal pair
So the story won't stay buried.
In a witch's tit-for-tat affair
The spooks are mum but the signs are there.
A wink, a nudge and an icy stare
Says the story won't stay buried.
Now zombies press the feckless heir
With "who?', "what?", "when?", "how?", "why?" and "where?".
His lifelong failure to prepare
Means the story won't stay buried.
Cryptic notes, the rockets' glare.
And a haunted house on a double dare
Pose dilemmas for the doctrinaire
When the story won't stay buried.
Midnight oil and a faithless prayer;
Fits and starts at a questionnaire;
There's no way out of the huntsman's snare
And the story won't stay buried.