What, I ask, is the appeal
Of the macabre and the unreal?
The Gothic craze just leaves me cold.
Yet many love it, I am told.
Skipping about at dead of night,
Eyes all black and face all white!
Hovering nightly quite undaunted
In graveyards which may well be haunted!
Dyeing ones hair as black as jet
And keeping a werewolf as a pet!
Dancing about among the stones,
Undismayed by shrieks and groans!
Wearing black, a sign of grief;
Sobbing into a handkerchief.
Piercing oneself in various places
Much more intimate than faces.
Choosing purple lipstick, too!
A terribly funereal hue!
Dracula is Patron Saint!
Not a semblance of restraint!
These Gothic types are always young,
And they must be highly strung!
They haven't learned that it's a crime
To look for Death before its time!
A little Gothic of my own here: