It is eighteen eighty eight August at its end Down the streets of Whitechapel Rippin’ her abdomen Poly was the first to die I was terrified Caus’ I cut and ripped her flesh Untill she laid to rest MORITURI TE SALUTANT MORITURI Soon “I will give 'em a clue But nothing to clear” Then “I will kill all the whores And not shed a tear” That rage is hunting my soul And feedin’ my veins But I need the taste of blood To fuckin’ cure my pain MORITURI TE SALUTANT MORITURI