The light, the light, that shines so bright in dead of night,
that drives the evil, biting things and demons out of sight;
the golden and enfolding glow of being safe and sound,
of keeping warm and staying dry and still above the ground;
the bright, and good, good morning shine of home and all is well,
the light that shows your world is right, that saves you with its spell.
That light is only good when it from good outshines.
When light comes from a darker place, it shows us darker times.
When light is just a lessening, a thinning of the dark,
you know that shining, glowing thing will make the shadows stark;
that lambent orange smiling face, that grinning toothy leer
is just a beacon signal to the things that we all fear.
The lantern Jack is not a friend, his is not here for you,
he’s here for all that love the dark, the ones that hate the true;
he lights the way for evil ones, the things with teeth, the bag o’bones,
he shows them, with his wicked glow, your lovely little home;
that Jack, he is an evil man, a sneak, a squash, a spy,
if I were you, I’d chop him up and bake him in a pie.