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I used to walk these unlit streets

As brave as brave can be

Until that very fateful day

That shook me to my knees

I thought I'd seen it all before

And not something in my head

The newspapers never got it right

About the reaper of the dead!

"I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it.”

-Sylvia Plath

Now what can I say? it is the truth

I'd swear it under oath

I stand accused, but not amused

Alas, dear friend I'm bought undone

But let me tell my ghastly tale

And I'm sure you must agree

The man I am whose shadow is greater than

Almost got his hooks in me

The day began as it mostly did

I would sit around until the dusk

Was it something that I said?

Or would leave me as a husk

You see my goal that very night

Was to seek some comfort ease

My stock in trade was my trusty blade

That I used with just a squeeze

For the prey I sought that very night

We are the lonely folk I hoped to meet

My goal, you see was within sight

Under the gaslights of Mulberry street

The truth can be a double edged sword

like this world of light and shade

For every coin has two faces to show

For me it's a throat and sweeping blade

For you see it's me, that very fiend

The reaper of the dead

T'is the monniker that the papers wrote

And one that rankles me so complete

When an artist such as I who never gloats

And to think...

I saw it on Mulberry Street!