Gilles de Rais
Vlad III Of Wallachia
Elizabeth Bathory
Theodore Robert Bundy
Peter William Sutcliffe
Dennis Nilsen
I’m Gilles de Rais,
I’m Gilles, I’m Gilles,
Alas, poor Joan,
I’m Gilles, I’m Gilles,
Prince Of Darkness
Bram Stoker was a joker if he thought his count was bad,
December 25, 1991
The Blood Countess
In 1560 I was born,
The Blood Countess they christened me,
My husband was a wicked one,
When I was but a child I saw
Stripped naked they’re placed in a cage
You too Hyndley and Belle Gunness,
Three centuries and more have gone
For deep in every woman’s heart
December 25, 1991
Deliberate Stranger
(i)
Hi there, I’m Ted,
I kill for kicks,
They asked me once
Why is it my
(ii)
Take that, you fucking whore!
A twelve year old, a peach!
Alas, it couldn’t last,
Outside the prison gate
(iii)
Too fucking right it is, you scum,
Burn Bundy, burn, so say them and say I:
Song Of The Yorkshire Ripper
Dear Mr Oldfield, you look such
Do you really think you’ll catch me,
You never know when next I’ll strike
At night when you’re tucked up in bed
Or if I’m feeling really mean
You must admit, George, I’m so cool
But I like you, George, you’re a pro,
The Beast Of Cranley Gardens
My name is Dennis Nilsen, I’m a necrophiliac,
I’d done fifteen or sixteen when the Old Bill came for me,
Song Of Bluebeard
My life is gay
And happy as can be,
The comely wench
Who saved the French
Could well have married me.
Young boys I kill,
I love to hear their howls;
I tan their hide
While sat astride,
My prick shoved up their bowels.
She died alone,
Ignited at the stake,
When I think of
My poor, lost love,
My noble heart doth ache.
It’s such a thrill
To watch the fuckers squirm,
Squashed to death,
Draw their final breath,
And drink my noble sperm.
There never was a vampire quite like me, the son of Vlad,
I’m best remembered for my inhumanity to man,
Impaling people thousands at a time with great élan.
There never was a massacre like I did at St Barts,
And dined midst the cadavers of the townsfolk: wretched farts.
Then there were the ambassadors who left me vexed and red;
I left each with a migraine and his hat nailed to his head.
My catalogue of sexual perversions contains stunts
Like cutting women’s nipples off, and pokers up their cunts,
I even slit my mistress down the middle for a laugh;
Vlad Tsepes, Prince of Darkness makes a fitting epitaph.
And many wish I hadn’t been;
I treated everyone with scorn;
Of lady killers I was queen.
Because I used to bath in gore;
I murdered virgin maids with glee
Behind my Sarvar castle door.
But he was not a patch on Liz,
Until you’ve seen the things I’ve done
You’ve no idea what evil is.
A fellow sewn up in a horse,
Since then I’ve murdered girls galore
With never a grain of remorse.
And stabbed most painfully to death
While I swear and blaspheme in rage -
Eat your heart out, Lady MacBeth.
You’re like a pair of babysitters
Compared to the Blood Countess,
For I killed hundreds of the critters.
Since I died walled up in my room,
But my presence will linger on,
My evil shadow always loom,
There lurks a temptress and a whore,
And a psychotic, murderous tart
Who yearns to kill and gorge on gore.
I’ve come to fuck your daughter;
She’ll soon be dead,
I’ll lead her to the slaughter.
My heart’s as black as Hell,
How many chicks
I’ve done I couldn’t tell.
And I replied with sniggers:
This fucking nonce
Is now in triple figures.
Victims are so receptive
To this guy?
Well, good looks can be deceptive.
I’ll bet your arse is sore.
Ecstatically I bit
At Lisa Levy’s tit.
It’s curtains for Kim Leach,
And all the others slain -
Young lives thrown down the drain.
Fear, agony, death spasm:
The price of Ted’s orgasm.
And now I stand aghast
Awaiting my own death
Trembling with baited breath.
They scream my name in hate -
Eat Bundy fries
As Bundy dies!
Is this to be my fate...?
The time for you to fry has come!
It couldn’t happen for a nicer guy.
A sad and worried man,
The strain is becoming too much;
Why not throw in your hand?
You and your force of fools?
You’ve not a chance George, for you see
I don’t play by your rules.
Or which town I will raid
Until another whoring Tyke
Falls victim to my blade.
I take my trusty knife;
A swift cut, then a flash of red:
So ends another life.
I’ll do a proper job,
I’ll smash her face, rupture her spleen
And leave her face a blob.
With knife and ball pein hammer,
But you’re not, George, you look a fool
On TV when you stammer.
Like that Yard fellow, Slipper,
Just thought I’d write to let you know:
Sincerely yours, the Ripper.
I strangle young men with my ties then fuck them up the crack,
I pick them up in pubs I frequent; some of them are queer,
And some of them are homeless, that’s the reason they come here.
I offer them a bed and ply them with beer, wine and Scotch,
And when I’ve killed them, I wank off and make the corpses watch.
I bury them beneath the floorboards, flush them down the bog
In Cranley Gardens where I live with Beep, my faithful dog.
And shattered my veneer of quaint respectability;
I would’ve got away with it if I’d taken more care
And hadn’t blocked the drain up with flesh, offal, bone and hair.
My case came up before a jury whom I tried to sway
Pretending to be sick as well as lonely, sad and gay.
They sent me down for life because they know I’m not insane;
I’m just an evil little cunt with murder on the brain.
[The above was first published in Scatoligicus Eroticum, February 1993.]
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