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Jack the Ripper Ballad

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Jack the ripper ballad
Who walks the streets of the London,





















preying on beauties beyond compare ,






















Who follows them down the alley ways,























and make them shiver in despair,


























they say it was he, a black hearted man,






















a man full of blood thirst, a man who was mad.
As the moon came out to play,

























At the stroke of midnight,



























clouds covered London in the shadows of the Devils’ delight,















silence echoed fear into the streets of East London,

















as a young lady called Polly Nickels,




























left her rooming house, unafraid

























unaware of the dangers ahead,

























she walked obliviously on the streets, on the road that lead a stray























always looking forward, never looking back,




















But what did she find in front of her, a man dressed in jet black.
No scream, no shout, silence stilled the night on that fateful day,












for the man who has stained his hands in innocent blood, well surly strike again,








the police were shocked, the people were afraid,


















for who was this man killing in this dark masquerade,

















the police were unsure , no suspects were made, no clues were found,








no witnesses had seen, what had happened that dreadful day.
Only moons had past, since the death of ms nickels,




























and another fair lady had her life stolen from her,

















by the same terrible killer, a man from nowhere,


























he slit her throat and ripped her organs away,




















no whimper was heard ,no sound was made,




















the murderer loved the taste of her blood,




















for his life must be very absurd,
The police were shaken to the ends of the earth,



















as they saw the crime scene, from which the killer found great mirth,












one after one fair ladies fell dead,
























on the streets of east London,

























their black funeral bed .
It’s sad to say, the killer was not found,






















for this phantom of death,





























had a mysterious background ,

























may those killed by his brutal hands, rest in peace,
















written in blood, his name from hell





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