Vincent Malloy is seven years old 
He’s always polite and does what he’s told 
For a boy his age, he’s considerate and nice 
But he wants to be just like Vincent Price 

He doesn’t mind living with his sister, dog and cats 
Though he’d rather share a home with spiders and bats 
There he could reflect on the horrors he’s invented 
And wander dark hallways, alone and tormented 

Vincent is nice when his [bad word] to see him 
But imagines dipping her in wax for his wax museum 

He likes to experiment on his dog Abercrombie 
In the hopes of creating a horrible zombie 
So he and his horrible zombie dog 
Could go searching for victims in the London fog 

His thoughts, though, aren’t only of ghoulish crimes 
He likes to paint and read to pass some of the times 
While other kids read books like Go, Jane, Go! 
Vincent’s favourite author is Edgar Allen Poe 

One night, while reading a [bad word] tale 
He read a passage that made him turn pale 

Such horrible news he could not survive 
For his beautiful wife had been buried alive! 
He dug out her grave to make sure she was dead 
Unaware that her grave was his mother’s flower bed 

His mother sent Vincent off to his room 
He knew he’d been banished to the tower of doom 
Where he was sentenced to spend the rest of his life 
Alone with the portrait of his beautiful wife 

While alone and insane encased in his tomb 
Vincent’s mother burst suddenly into the room 
She said: “If you want to, you can go out and play 
It’s sunny outside, and a beautiful day” 

Vincent tried to talk, but he just couldn’t speak 
The years of isolation had made him quite weak 
So he took out some paper and scrawled with a pen: 
“I am possessed by this house, and can never leave it again” 
His mother said: “You’re not possessed, and you’re not almost dead 
These games that you play are all in your head 
You’re not Vincent Price, you’re Vincent Malloy 
You’re not tormented or insane, you’re just a young boy 
You’re seven years old and you are my son 
I want you to get outside and have some real fun. 

”Her anger now spent, she walked out through the hall 
And while Vincent backed slowly against the wall 
The room started to swell, to shiver and creak 
His horrid insanity had reached its peak 

He saw Abercrombie, his zombie slave 
And heard his wife call from beyond the grave 
She spoke from her coffin and made ghoulish demands 
While, through cracking walls, reached skeleton hands 

Every horror in his life that had crept through his dreams 
Swept his mad laughter to terrified screams! 
To escape the madness, he reached for the door 
But fell limp and lifeless down on the floor 

His voice was soft and very slow 
As he quoted The Raven from Edgar Allen Poe: 

“and my soul from out that shadow 
that lies floating on the floor 
shall be lifted? 
Nevermore…”