Mack the Killer
Of all the fiends I ever knew, the worst was Mack the Killer
Who lived on other people’s gold, a spendthrift and coin-spiller
We all watched as he showered gold on mothers never wives
We saw him fill the tweaking hands of men embracing blight
We saw them never work again, their days turned fast to waste
We saw the good folk tumble down in ever-quicker haste
We saw their souls face in the mire, the spark now smothered out
We saw the men to anger to turn, to cover killing doubts
Not to build, not to think, no hand upon the tiller
They went to their graves hungry ghosts, because of Mack the Killer.
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