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