I know that for a fact.
The Laughter never stops in there.
And bodies hand on racks.
There's children holding hatchets,
And mothers wielding guns.
The colors all seem to blur together,
There never is just one.
Theres clowns juggling heads,
And puppets crying blood;
The moon has been shot down,
And the sun hasn't risen up.
Theres things under every bed,
And Monsters around every corner;
Theres a closet in the back,
Where i keep all your deepest horrors.