Dense smog, alleys, cobbled streets,
a predator lurks, what havoc he wreaks.
Preying on whores, who are a plenty,
many believed, he was landed gentry.
Brothels, poor houses, they did abound,
Whitechapel the area, his hunting ground.
A black shadowed butcher, lying in wait,
whores walking by, not knowing their fate.
His victims became, the "canonical five"
slaughtered they were, no chance to survive.
Wielding his scalpel, a dark shadow cast,
stomachs ripped open, throats duly slashed.
Slaughter abounding, whores still plying,
their only fear, the next one dying.
The killings ended after the fifth,
thus creating this life long myth.
Theories abound, who was this man,
roaming the streets, scalpel in hand.
Even today, we are not any nearer,
who was that man, we call "Jack The Ripper"
Arthur Cole...All Copyright Reserved.
updated by @arthur: 11/02/17 02:50:52PM
