Copy Cat Killer. - Poem by Rather Dead Than Cool

I crawl down the clouded streets,
In sight fortunes beneath.

Grapes for the whore,
Wine for eager more,
Grand work for the doctors closed door.

Thick blood in ginger bottle will not draw,
Red Ink instead,
Until i rip once more.

My work cleans the knife so nice and sharp,
From end to end,
A clean strip to which a spark,
The liar, liver, heart and the ridden smart.

I clean from end to end,
A knife a hidden part.