So I met this one weird chick back in the days -
she liked to collect flesh and hearts.
Her home was like a grave as well, with sculls covering up the walls.
And when I asked what's her birthday she answered 1665.
Plaque was then the unwanted gift people did get all the time.

With a pocket full of posies she's walked
from that time to our future day.
There "is no rest for the wicked ones"
I heard her sometimes say. 
And during nowadays I do often recall her wicked, haunted ways:
when the doorbell rings and there's no-one there
"Welcome to home, my dear." I say.