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.