London, 1888

Where in dark London night,

Do women walk in fright?

Where fearful of an aristocrats' plight of murdering in delight?

Down the wet alleys alone, she walks.

Through Ben's ticking she stumbles on.

Behind the maiden he steps forth, a hook in hand

And her bloody nape he doth wrought.

Alas! Jack the Ripper wanders on, seeking women,
again in thought.