Come along, child, it’s time for bed
Shut off that tv or those images will fix themselves inside your head.
I told you it was unwise to start a movie about the living dead.
Come along now, child, let’s move along.
No, I don’t have time for one last bedtime song.
You promised not to do this, you said that you’d be good.
And you’re definitely not acting like I think you really should.
Come along, child, get to bed. Make no sound.
I will be most upset if I hear your feet hit the ground.
There is no such thing as zombies – you know this to be true!
Pay no attention to that shuffling outside, along the dew.
No, I heard nothing scraping at the garden gate!
This is why those movies fill me full of nothing but hate.
Come along, child, under the covers.
I see no reason to fear a band of dead Confederate brothers.
Three hours later the child finally sleeps
And I can crawl into my bed and dream a dream free from creeps.
No! What’s that sound, was it all in my head?
The color drains from my face as I sit upright in bed!
There stands my pride and joy in the corner, his eyes quite dead
As he drags himself along the floorboards to the side of my bed.
It wasn’t a lie, it was just as he’d said
And now his cold dead eyes fill me up with dread.
What was happening, what is that sound?
Reminds of something heaving from the cold, cold ground.
Is this a dream or is this for real?
And as I look at my son I know my fate is sealed.