3 March 2013
It's a recent piece, with two new lines. It is reposted by request. Who am I to argue with that?
Borne upon the breeze, the sound of gypsy mandolins Tunes played for a ha'penny, accompanied by violins The public house is full again, for beer and life are cheap But the smell as you walk past is bad enough to make you weep The hansom on the cobbles rides through horseshit, spit and dust Lone bobbies pound their beat so to gain a bangtails trust Daddy's home from work, he hammers rivets at the docks Earns just enough for food, but he works in threadbare socks And as the ship on which he worked sails majestically by He counts the penny in his pocket and gives a resigned sigh It's hard here in the End, no use pretending that it's not Every day's a struggle with the things you haven't got The air's unclean, polluted, disease is rife all over town Ring a Ring of Roses We all fall down Cells full to overflowing with those who just can't keep the peace But there's one that is kept empty by the overburdened police For in a letter they've received by the light of blood red moon 'My knife is nice and sharp, I hope to be at work quite soon' As the sun gives way to gaslight everybody rushes home Drunk sailors and the bangtails given leave the streets to roam Slipping through the shadows, he seems to fit in well For no-one can identify, his face and name no-one can tell Time in the End is over with a deftly handled knife She thought she'd make a shilling but her trade has cost her life...
The mandolins and violins have long since played their tune Morning sun gives light where once was lit by gas and moon Sailors sleep in doorways and the whores sleep sound in bed Dreaming of a life that isn't stained the colour red Daddy wakes up coughing and pulls on his dockers shoes 'Murder, horrible Murder!' cries the Illustrated News Be thankful your profession keeps you warmed by the daylight Imagine all the fear that came to workers of the night That cell remains quite bare although they've given him a name They simply cannot catch him, blind man's bluff the madmans game There's a crime scene in the dark, and it's just hoping against all hope That it'll be easy to look upon, or be cleaned by Sunlight soap The morning fog will part and a ghastly sight will greet It used to be Whitechapel, now it's known as Ripper Street...
With reference to the BBC series, 'Ripper Street'
Life And Death In The End • Opuss № I