dogfacedboy uk1
New member
Always love a mystery me, one of the biggest crime mysteries out there has to be Jack the Ripper. So I wrote this poem (an old one) after watching a TV program on it many years ago. Hope you like it.
The lamps are being lit,
In old London town tonight,
The cold evening mist dampening their light,
Saw a figure move, dodging out of sight,
Does anybody know where Jacky is tonight?
Slipping through the shadows, an evil will intent,
Upon horrific murder his twisted mind is bent,
Jack is out there watching, eyeing you afar,
In this horrid murder who will be the star?
What makes him choose his victim? What makes him do these deeds?
Peverted mutilations satisfy his needs.
Passing by your window, who will it be tonight?
Lurking in the shadows, how easy do you fright?
Flash of cold hard steel, silences your scream,
How does it feel being murdered? Is it like a dream?
Breathing hard upon you, he goes about his work,
Slashing with his dagger, this madman goes beserk.
With his gruesome deed all done he flees back home again,
Escaping all detection, he enjoys his little game.
Who was this insane killer? Did anyone ever know?
Walking the streets of London, a hundred years ago.
And now from his grave he laughs,
About the memories of his life,
Of the women who were killed, by his deadly knife,
Of the days he stalked the big, Old Smoke,
Evil Jacky jokes.
The lamps are being lit,
In old London town tonight,
The cold evening mist dampening their light,
Saw a figure move, dodging out of sight,
Does anybody know where Jacky is tonight?
Slipping through the shadows, an evil will intent,
Upon horrific murder his twisted mind is bent,
Jack is out there watching, eyeing you afar,
In this horrid murder who will be the star?
What makes him choose his victim? What makes him do these deeds?
Peverted mutilations satisfy his needs.
Passing by your window, who will it be tonight?
Lurking in the shadows, how easy do you fright?
Flash of cold hard steel, silences your scream,
How does it feel being murdered? Is it like a dream?
Breathing hard upon you, he goes about his work,
Slashing with his dagger, this madman goes beserk.
With his gruesome deed all done he flees back home again,
Escaping all detection, he enjoys his little game.
Who was this insane killer? Did anyone ever know?
Walking the streets of London, a hundred years ago.
And now from his grave he laughs,
About the memories of his life,
Of the women who were killed, by his deadly knife,
Of the days he stalked the big, Old Smoke,
Evil Jacky jokes.
