Yon 'fore the now, the then was a'here.
The beasties, an' ghoulies, an' ghosties ran freer.
Amok an' away, we hid from the day.
Runnin' at night, we doled out our fright.
Twas not of our own strife; we were spoken to life.
I be one o' the beasties what goes bump in the night!
Are our nightmares things of fantasy and imagination? Or does that which we dream of become real? What happens to a small girl when her nightmares do become real?
A short single.
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