Cute as a button, cuddly as a…doll.
Sir Charles in Charge
words © By Evan Myquest
August 20, 2000
Blithe dancing around some English rock
Ordinary people in fancy robes gather in shock
As Charles Lee's ghost appeared mid-shout
Sky tall, megalithic, larger, and of the supernatural removing all doubt
As an ocean away, new life starts in lightning struck dumpster goo
It negotiates the distance from fire to frying pan to you
Your child puts his arms around a certain pie-eyed doll
His mind assumed the feeling of owning it all
Experiencing it all, especially now, with you blade-pinned against a wall
Able to reach with new clutches and the greediest of claws
With a scampering Charles in the background as the cause
Expect to find any cherished pets
Hung in closets by the doll that gets
His pleasure as the feathers fly in nightmare dreams
And the fur rips with curdling yelps and screams
Charles, you're in charge, they're dying large
God help the grown up people in his way
They're piling up, startled eyes large and round, rotting where they lay
Charles the doll and his current friend
Helped them meet an unappointed end
With a butcher's knife so sharp and gleaming
Crimson blood easily came streaming
Chucky's putting his name to escalating terror's game
Charles initiates his larger mate
Infecting rabid rage, expanding hate
With most children at sledding fun in winter's snow
A twosome on murderous spree, that fun forego
With Charles whispering killing commands at all times
Ideas come into a child's mind that recall the grimmest nursery rhymes
Our singular little man adds victims to his domination plan
You're never so unlucky
As when you're hunted by Chucky
You can't believe the baby way he walks
Leave you alone you beg, yet on he stalks
Wonder what makes him tick
It's a floor just made bloody slick
Eyes flicking wide, eyes of glassy grade, wielding that shining blade
Down into a maelstrom of pitter patter
Nightmoves in shadow, results framed in splatter
Our doll makes a Rorschach scene
On a blood-dripping, gore-flecked TV screen
With wide red cracked and smiling lips
The spirit of Charles runs a pattern in murderous stutter steps
On the stairs, at the top, then in the basement, another victim on the drop
Can you imagine what a squealing joyride
All the way out with the killing tide
You don't want to mess with any boy
With the power of the toy
The knife, tipped with poison,
Chucky spreads the urges that egg boys on
His power's building wherever a weapon's willing
Throw him away
Back in a day
Night comes as he's found
At the tick of a basement sound
One doesn't see the face in the old heating register grate
Of course, for that one it's too late
A hesitant step or two, past the grate and he's on you
When another family is cold and dead
And it's Sir Charles in charge lest we dread
And at the sound of the last to fall
That last man standing is a doll
The spirit of Charles Lee
Sending him on spree after spree
When cults can raise by accident, a doll most murderously bent
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