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skonen_bladesHe’d never seen the light of day
His lips were ruby red
Emerald-tinted was the hair
That sprouted from his head
His tailored suit was indigo
Though rarely was it cleaned
And from the milk of cruelty
He had yet to be weaned
For every drop of blood that fell
Upon his velvet vest
Was a drop (he always felt)
That darkly dropped in jest
Because to him life’s tapestry
Was just a gruesome gaffe
And in the face of tragedy
He always chose to laugh
His peals were haunted, scary things
That roosted in the ear
Manic chuckles sewn from death
That caused the city fear
This nightmare of a man was thought
To be the very Ripper.
A string of women had been found
All undone like a zipper
And grins were cut into their cheeks
To make their smiles wider
Their ghastly laughing countenance
Attractive as a spider
After that, he’d hit the body.
Strangle, beat and choke her.
Detectives called him Ripper Jack
He called himself The Joker.
Detective Wayne from Scotland Yard
Came down to catch the slayer
“If the Joker likes a game,”
he said, “Then I’m a player.”
Detective Wayne had giant ears
The sharpest in Great Britain
Ears more sensitive, they said
Than whiskers on a kitten
He brought an apparatus, too
An amplifying hat
A cowl with extended ears
They nicknamed him ‘The Bat’
Late at night he walked the streets
Listening for the crime
Waiting for the laughter’s owner
Listening all the time
Then one night he heard the laughter
Just a tiny snicker
A laugh so soft and yet so dark
A horse’s deathly whicker
Wayne turned ‘round and there he stood
The Joker pale of skin
With a knife and crazy eyes
Skeletally thin
The Joker laughed and lunged en garde
The Bat fanned up his cloak
The blade found nothing but the cape
And then a cloud of smoke
Joker laughed and couldn’t see him
But The Bat could hear still
He struck out into the laugh
Using both his ears ‘til
All the laughter stopped abruptly
And the smoke a-drifted
The Bat stared down at what he’d hit
As the smoke all lifted
All The Bat had in his hands
A tattered purple jacket
The Joker must have slipped away
In amongst the racket
tags
His lips were ruby red
Emerald-tinted was the hair
That sprouted from his head
His tailored suit was indigo
Though rarely was it cleaned
And from the milk of cruelty
He had yet to be weaned
For every drop of blood that fell
Upon his velvet vest
Was a drop (he always felt)
That darkly dropped in jest
Because to him life’s tapestry
Was just a gruesome gaffe
And in the face of tragedy
He always chose to laugh
His peals were haunted, scary things
That roosted in the ear
Manic chuckles sewn from death
That caused the city fear
This nightmare of a man was thought
To be the very Ripper.
A string of women had been found
All undone like a zipper
And grins were cut into their cheeks
To make their smiles wider
Their ghastly laughing countenance
Attractive as a spider
After that, he’d hit the body.
Strangle, beat and choke her.
Detectives called him Ripper Jack
He called himself The Joker.
Detective Wayne from Scotland Yard
Came down to catch the slayer
“If the Joker likes a game,”
he said, “Then I’m a player.”
Detective Wayne had giant ears
The sharpest in Great Britain
Ears more sensitive, they said
Than whiskers on a kitten
He brought an apparatus, too
An amplifying hat
A cowl with extended ears
They nicknamed him ‘The Bat’
Late at night he walked the streets
Listening for the crime
Waiting for the laughter’s owner
Listening all the time
Then one night he heard the laughter
Just a tiny snicker
A laugh so soft and yet so dark
A horse’s deathly whicker
Wayne turned ‘round and there he stood
The Joker pale of skin
With a knife and crazy eyes
Skeletally thin
The Joker laughed and lunged en garde
The Bat fanned up his cloak
The blade found nothing but the cape
And then a cloud of smoke
Joker laughed and couldn’t see him
But The Bat could hear still
He struck out into the laugh
Using both his ears ‘til
All the laughter stopped abruptly
And the smoke a-drifted
The Bat stared down at what he’d hit
As the smoke all lifted
All The Bat had in his hands
A tattered purple jacket
The Joker must have slipped away
In amongst the racket
tags