He had a spider web tattoo on his elbow,
a holograph of an eye on his lapel,
his complexion was smooth and uneven,
a killer and a scholar, you could tell.
No, you wouldn’t want to make his acquaintance,
become another to fall under his spell,
his sweet breath stinking and hypnotic,
a killer and a scholar, you could tell.
For some men solid homes are made to sell,
some spend their days drinking fine wine,
other men dream to live the stories they tell,
while other men beg before dying.
His hair was black, his head clean shaven,
one eye rose, while the other eye fell.
He was ugly, but still quite appealing,
a killer and a scholar, you could tell.
He kept a little book with a list of names,
each victim his name he would spell,
and when he crossed that name off his list—
another sinner would await him in Hell—
a killer and a scholar, you could tell.
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