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The witching hour draws near again

As I lay alone inside my bed

I summon her every night

With a Ouija board by candlelight

A chill on my dick

And I know know she's there

She died in 1923

She was a whore before all the HIV

But in death

She still can't get her fill

And the best part is

She doesn't even have to take the pill

Ghost pussy is as tight as it is cold

I can't see her face but I can feel her on my pole

In the mirror I caught a glimpse of her reflection

Her body withered and pale but still I kept my erection

In return she never asks for much

Only to recall the warmth of human touch

But I know every time she leaves she's satisfied

From the ectoplasm on my dick she leaves behind

Ghost pussy, haunting my junk tonight