deepundergroundpoetry.com
Mr. Ripper
Like a nightmare passing through gas lanterns
He stalks the streets of Whitechapel
A flashing glimpse as if a shrouded phantom
He moves in, silently, for the kill
After the midnight sacrifice
He puts all of her organs on display
Those urchin eyes, never meant to see
Visceral art in the day
A putrid pile of bloody meat
And on the floors lay the bodies of whores
True love blooms when they whimper
Enjoys a fresh cooked meal on the Autumn shores
He is legend, he is the ripper
Oh, Mr. Ripper
Fanciful tales of tragic delights
Oh, Jack the Ripper
Like a wisp, a shadow in the night
Shining steel seems unreal
On the streets of Whitechapel
Heinous crimes, one day you’ll fine
He appeared to them, seemingly, divine
He willingly followed them in black galleries
The scent of a woman was just as sweet as her laments
He cut at the flesh, surgical and precise
Beneath the gloom of the city’s fading light
To appease the demon inside
He would bathe in the blood and cries
The crimson flow like a dark red rose
Kissed by the moonlight song
Patiently awaiting the coming dawn
Set upon a path, to cleanse the world of filth
With a wave of terror and all the blood that’s spilled
Yes, she did seem so beautiful
Like a goddess of musicals
The path was shone to him long ago
Trapped in the mind’s splinter
Was a beast, behold the ripper
Oh, Mr. Ripper
Fanciful tales of tragic delights
Oh, Jack the Ripper
Like a wisp, a shadow in the night
There’s no one to save one
Witness as death swiftly comes
The flash of steel, it seems too real
Here on the shadowed streets of Whitechapel
Like a nightmare passing through gas lanterns
He stalks the streets of Whitechapel
A flashing glimpse as if a shrouded phantom
He moves in, silently, for the kill
It is best to stay behind doors
Locked against the cold man in the night
Those moaning whores, pleasures of the flesh
The art of sin in red light
Deathly joys await his caress
Two voices whispering inside his head
Peaceful calm and red hot temper
It’s best you hide when you hear his name is said
Behold the man of the night
From Hell, he is the ripper
Oh, Mr. Ripper
Fanciful tales of tragic delights
Oh, Jack the Ripper
Like a wisp, a shadow in the night
He stalks the streets of Whitechapel
A flashing glimpse as if a shrouded phantom
He moves in, silently, for the kill
After the midnight sacrifice
He puts all of her organs on display
Those urchin eyes, never meant to see
Visceral art in the day
A putrid pile of bloody meat
And on the floors lay the bodies of whores
True love blooms when they whimper
Enjoys a fresh cooked meal on the Autumn shores
He is legend, he is the ripper
Oh, Mr. Ripper
Fanciful tales of tragic delights
Oh, Jack the Ripper
Like a wisp, a shadow in the night
Shining steel seems unreal
On the streets of Whitechapel
Heinous crimes, one day you’ll fine
He appeared to them, seemingly, divine
He willingly followed them in black galleries
The scent of a woman was just as sweet as her laments
He cut at the flesh, surgical and precise
Beneath the gloom of the city’s fading light
To appease the demon inside
He would bathe in the blood and cries
The crimson flow like a dark red rose
Kissed by the moonlight song
Patiently awaiting the coming dawn
Set upon a path, to cleanse the world of filth
With a wave of terror and all the blood that’s spilled
Yes, she did seem so beautiful
Like a goddess of musicals
The path was shone to him long ago
Trapped in the mind’s splinter
Was a beast, behold the ripper
Oh, Mr. Ripper
Fanciful tales of tragic delights
Oh, Jack the Ripper
Like a wisp, a shadow in the night
There’s no one to save one
Witness as death swiftly comes
The flash of steel, it seems too real
Here on the shadowed streets of Whitechapel
Like a nightmare passing through gas lanterns
He stalks the streets of Whitechapel
A flashing glimpse as if a shrouded phantom
He moves in, silently, for the kill
It is best to stay behind doors
Locked against the cold man in the night
Those moaning whores, pleasures of the flesh
The art of sin in red light
Deathly joys await his caress
Two voices whispering inside his head
Peaceful calm and red hot temper
It’s best you hide when you hear his name is said
Behold the man of the night
From Hell, he is the ripper
Oh, Mr. Ripper
Fanciful tales of tragic delights
Oh, Jack the Ripper
Like a wisp, a shadow in the night
Published 11th Dec 2014
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11th Dec 2014 9:28pm
Yes, "Like a wisp, a shadow in the night." They never did catch Spring-heeled Jack. Maybe he's still around. Great job.
12th Dec 2014 2:44am
