There is a story

going around,

Jack the Tripper

is back in town!

Twenty girls

dead on their head,

beaten to death

with a piece of lead.

He trips then hits,

and bites his lips.

This ghastly tale

is is happening again.

You just don't know

who is your friend!

Girls, murdered and *****

then left to rot...

Jack you're a ripper

with a very poor plot.

The Mulberry butcher was amazed

a packet of kidneys arrived and glazed.

Where did this wonderful treat come from?

It said on the label, Choice, US, One,

The Chief of Police was having a fit;

twenty young women  

reported missing and found ripped.

Ripped through the throat and the back

as well

somebody was destined to go to hell.

The coroner cried, My God, look how they died!

He sliced their neck, took out their eyes and

then, My God the kidneys too!

This man surely belongs in a zoo.

The Chief, he knew, at once,

the Rippers return had given him lunch.

The front page news hit home!

Thirteen dead in a gambling pen...

A dead bell hounds those

rain soaked back streets

bullits smash soot blind windows

and the smell of blood makes you sick...

White light of the camera eye

spinning red  globes

An attendant shacks his head"How do you rationalize this mess"

"Just bag up the rest"

A child whimpers.

"Hush, Little flower,

it is just death's long shadow

way down in Chinatown."

The Wizard knocks upon my door.

The hour is late

stale breath I adore.

I let him in with his bottle of gin.

He grins at me toothless then

grabs the tin...

a cup I save just for him.

What loquacious tale he may tell

doesn't sit with my mutton and his smell.

He is pretty drunk and so am I.

Can't seem to open my sightless eye...

Why I invite him in each night?

Is the reason mother sits dead in fright.

She stares at us from across the room.

I only hit her once with the broom.

The Wizard promised she'd soon be gone.

You know Wizards, they're full of moon.

So, I let him in when it gets dark.

We plan each night another brain ****.

Mother just won't go away. She's bloated

and smells as  the ugliest  ****. But, soon

we will figure something out when the gin

runs low and our lights go out.

Conspiracy is just a word…

senseless death of innocents

is all too real.

Pray for those unknown heroes

who rode a plane through Hell;

who died not really knowing

and will never be able to tell.

In the quiet rain of this September,

amidst the ashes and the pain;

try to remember with prayer:

each and every name.

The light of the world

flickers faintly and fades.

In autumn's grey shadows

hushed voices make hymns...

    A cloak of sadness

cloisters the old refrains,

and each of us wonders...

will life ever...be the same?

They ran her ou ta town with

her ****** hanging down...

They said she'd put a spell

on the grocer's witless son.

See how stories get twisted.

The truth is much more misted.

Twas the out house that she sought;

having drunk gallons of rot gut,

and an alligator popped up to

bite her rear.

The dim wit heard her scream;

thought he was in a dream

and ran out to assist her.

Seen together in this fashion

twisted up and rather mashing

folks took the first impression

and their tongues began a wagging.

They put her on a bus all covered with dust.

The grocer's son sitting right beside her.

Nothing like a twisted tale to

put you on the road to desolation