I used to walk these streets,
Feel the solid ground beneath my shoes.
The creaks and groans of Victorian brickwork
Inaudible to those not listening.
Darkened windows a barrier for the faces behind,
Silently screaming to be released.
From torture and mutilation,
While I roamed the alleys for fresh nectar.
Top Hat, stick clicking the wet walkways,
Although I see many of the cobbles are no more,
Covered instead with ugly slabs, the
blackened blood stains hidden now forever.
You see me not as I drift pass you,
My tongue tenses as my plan evolves.
You are sitting alone, and from my shadow,
You cannot know that I will have you.
My black coat has pockets laden
with contraptions you will never have seen.
Eighty two years my soul has searched,
For a mate, a wife, in a pool of death.
Excessive consumption is taking place,
A complacency not afforded in my time alive.
You will learn hardship soon enough my dear.
You are soon to be coming home.