The hunted rustle in their seats Is it with her eyes she seeks Peering round the corner at the brittle and weak The brittle and weak Does a magic linger in its bones A spell from a facetious crone Who resided at this quiet and lonely old folks home As the kitten purrs and kneads The elders fear its company When she skims the room The question's "Who's next" The deadly hex For is she hops upon your knee The last breath in your lungs released And the women confide in gossiping whispers, "I'll surely miss her" For the reaper's hiding under a veil The swing of the sickle is the swing of its tail With intentions that shall not be mentioned More than a bruise So if the walking clock catches your eye With a prediction that will never lie She'll bid you farewell She'll bid you farewell She'll bid you goodbye