Mystic Circle: Ghost of Whitechapel
Tekst piosenki
Tekst piosenki
Mystic Circle: Ghost of Whitechapel
Here's to the Devil,
With his wooden pick and shovel,
Digging tin by the buschel,
With his tail cocked up!
Mr. Lusk,
Sor
I send you half the Kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you
tother piece I fried and ate
it was very nise.
I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer
Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk
In the streets of London
A monster is wreaking havoc
In the protective cloak of the moon,
He satisfies his lust to kill
The fog is his hiding place
If you see his shadow, you die
The air smells of mold and decay
He comes to slaughter the servants of lust
The sky is crying bloody tears
1888
The year of the beast
Whores were cruelly murdered
Ghost of whitechapel
Pitiless and cold
Ghost of whitechapel
He is the craftsman of death
Deadly blades dig into your flesh
Horrible screams in the night
Tortured bodies, dismembered
The ritual is complete
The death knell is calling your name
Evil is in the air
The hunt is on
A soul will be taken
An appiration of horror
The desecrator of your soul
Ghost of whitechapel
Ghost of the night
He spreads fear and terror
No one knows his name
The devil in the black coat
Plays a murderous game
In the silence of the night
Lurks a mortal danger
If you are in his sights,
There will be no escape
The merciless beast awaits you
The ripper is near
Bodies of 5 harlots were found,
All cut into pieces
Ghost of whitechapel
The blade of death is sharp
Ghost of whitechapel
A nightmare written with blood
With his wooden pick and shovel,
Digging tin by the buschel,
With his tail cocked up!
Mr. Lusk,
Sor
I send you half the Kidne I took from one women prasarved it for you
tother piece I fried and ate
it was very nise.
I may send you the bloody knif that took it out if you only wate a whil longer
Catch me when you can Mishter Lusk
In the streets of London
A monster is wreaking havoc
In the protective cloak of the moon,
He satisfies his lust to kill
The fog is his hiding place
If you see his shadow, you die
The air smells of mold and decay
He comes to slaughter the servants of lust
The sky is crying bloody tears
1888
The year of the beast
Whores were cruelly murdered
Ghost of whitechapel
Pitiless and cold
Ghost of whitechapel
He is the craftsman of death
Deadly blades dig into your flesh
Horrible screams in the night
Tortured bodies, dismembered
The ritual is complete
The death knell is calling your name
Evil is in the air
The hunt is on
A soul will be taken
An appiration of horror
The desecrator of your soul
Ghost of whitechapel
Ghost of the night
He spreads fear and terror
No one knows his name
The devil in the black coat
Plays a murderous game
In the silence of the night
Lurks a mortal danger
If you are in his sights,
There will be no escape
The merciless beast awaits you
The ripper is near
Bodies of 5 harlots were found,
All cut into pieces
Ghost of whitechapel
The blade of death is sharp
Ghost of whitechapel
A nightmare written with blood
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Mystic Circle: Ghost of Whitechapel
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