Six minutes past three o'clock
The clock is ticking furthermore
Outside, the sky is still pitch-black
In a minute, they'll be by the door
When the ghosts appear
They won't come in silently
And when the minute hand strikes
You will witness the eerie
They slam the doors
They make stairs creak
They scratch the walls
But they never speak
Yet if they do
It will give you the creeps
For the words will come
Out of your lips
So run to your door, child
And fast you shall go
Lock it behind you
Before one of them shows
Look under your bed
They might be hiding below
But if you're scared to do so
Then you'll never know
Just hide under your blanket
While you tremble in fear
And cover your ankles
Or they'll grab it, my dear
Let the devil's hour pass
And let dawn become day
They're afraid of the light
So they cannot stay
When the morning comes
You'll try telling your parents
That the night ghosts are real
But they'll tell you they weren't
That's the thing, don't you see?
They don't believe children
They believe that your ghosts
Are just your imagination
But we both know they're not
We both know they're real
So tomorrow at three
They'll be back, my dear.
...
