A Poem about the
Demon in Whitehouse.

"WALKS ON,
AND TURNS NO MORE HIS HEAD
BECAUSE HE KNOWS A FRIGHTFUL FIEND
DOTH CLOSE BEHIND HIM TREAD"
-Night of the demon

He lives in the whitehouse on Sparky Lane,
he thinks heís the president but heís quite insane.

A fucking old grumpy git,
that flies into a raging fit,
if someone parks on his bit,
then they will get loads of shit.

Canít you see the sign
- KEEP OFF Ė you swine
and park elsewhere
cos I donít care.

The lanes my patch
and I am daddy
so donít park here
or Iíll have a paddy.

But one time when rushing home,
I park my car just by his home,
he cast a curse so fast,
that would make that night my very last.

As I was listening to my tunes,
he pushed a letter of ancient runes,
through the door it fell upon floor,
and burnt away forever more.

The following night the Demon came,
with gnashing teeth it called my name.
I ran through Bluebell woods late that night,
a fiery demon giving flight.

I begged him to undone the Demon curse,
but this only made it fucking worse,
in seven days you will die,
and join the demon in the sky.

Poor Albert-map,
his face went red and he did crap,
on Saturday next I will die,
can no one help me with this problem,
maybe I should ring the Goblin.

So beware the Curse of Sparky Lane,
and the demon bringing pain
or is it just - a Fuckin tale,
written by a blubber whale.


was this tale of horror
ďNight of DemonĒ you did borrow,
a similar story but with different names
was written by a Mr James.