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作曲 : Alan Jones
Through fog-filled streets and alleys,
where fantails walk the night
A cloaked figure waits and watches,
from beyond the dim gas light
What dark reason lies behind the veil,
and drives him on to kill
These petticoats have no valuables,
there's nothing for him to steal
So why the senseless slaughter,
of the ones they deem so low
It's certainly not for monetary gain,
so perhaps it's what they know
Dank air glistens on blackened tenement walls,
the hovels of the poor
Where poverty is a way of life,
behind every bolted door
From such homes these wretches came,
and are forced to walk the streets
To eke a living in its most basic form,
with every stranger that they meet
So why the needless slaughter,
Of the ones they deem so low
It can't be for any other reason,
it must be what they know.
The need to exist will drive them out,
from behind their own locked doors
To venture forth into the night,
to work the streets as whores
For them there is no future,
no reason for them to be
And the momentary glimpse of a flashing blade,
is the lat thing they will see
In death there needs to be some pride,
even for those deemed so low
Not lie disembowelled in a filthy street,
just for what they know
So who will be the scapegoat,
who will take the blame
When the compass and the setsquare,
rears its head again.
Who will they use to hide the truth,
and avert the public's gaze
From the intrigue that in reality,
Lies behind the political maze
Albert Victor's name is whispered,
from behind the crumbling walls
That the princes bastard offspring,
will be the next to rule
A Catholic heir in waiting,
first in line to the throne
A situation that could not exist,
and couldn't be condoned
Was this the knowledge shared by the ones,
who people deemed so low
Perhaps this is what the secret is,
perhaps this is what they know
Does the ripper still exist today,
but in a different form
To carry out the subversive acts,
to protect these royal born
Who is it that hides behind the cloak,
this friend without a face
And how many of his victims,
will disappear without a trace
How many more will meet the fate,
of the ones they deem so low
And how many more will have to die,
because of what they know
So who will be the scapegoat,
who will take the blame
When the compass and the setsquare,
rears its head again
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