Saturday, December 10, 2011

Black and White and Red Death All Over

The third of my rooms-in-a-row
Is as pure as the new driven snow
Though it's fun to contrast
With the one that comes last,
I wouldn't just scoot to and fro.

All the chambers are vividly hued
Like a rainbow they'll lift any mood
This last one excluded
It's black and secluded
And most dames who go in leave unglued.

As they enter they're taken aback
Coming next is a panic attack
When they suddenly find
All the colors combined
Are as black as Lord Satan's own crack.

Vincent Price gives Jane Asher the fifty-cent tour in Masque of the Red Death (Roger Corman, 1964).

No comments: