On a crooked night in autumn, with my lamp about to die, I found maleficent in a dictionary, staring back at me with spite. If evil starts with male, does the wicked side wear ties? So I brewed myself a question in a pot of midnight lies. I twisted malevolent to femalevolent just for fun, and the shadows in my kitchen whispered, “Girl, what have you done?” My grammar started trembling, my logic came undone - seems the devil’s in the details, not in daughters or in sons. ’Cause my words keep bending, my sanity’s ending, I’m lost in a femaleficent groove. If evil is male, then my thoughts derail, and the language begins to move. With a crooked piano, and a bass down low, I’m singing what I can’t prove. I found a malfunction in the spellbook of the night, turned it femalfunction just to see if witches got it right. My malcontent confession turned femalecontent delight - guess the grammar of the underworld is genderless tonight. I carved a malediction into pumpkins on the floor, changed it to femalediction till my fingers felt no more. The ghosts applauded softly from behind my creaking door - seems they love a language joke, especially when it’s poor. ’Cause my words keep bending, my sanity’s ending, I’m lost in a femaleficent groove. If evil is male, then my thoughts derail, and the language begins to move. With a crooked piano, and a bass down low, I’m singing what I can’t prove. So if evil is male, or female, or none - I’ll leave that to scholars who weigh every pun. I’ll just keep on singing till Halloween’s done, in a femaleficent blues where the jokes overrun.
