Ruddiger Pew is just
like you; he counts them
all out two by two.
And when there’s only two
more left, he adds them to
the one that’s next.
And when he measures he
checks them twice, he licks
his lips and wipes the knife.
He drains the blood and wraps
the bone; he fits them in their
And he dresses his raiment’s
fair; he bites the tongues
and wears the hair.
And in the basement he bricks
them in, he carves the corpses
as he wears the skins
He combs his crop and dons he’s
hat; he grabs his hooks and pats
Tonight’s the night. The darks
so drear, the moon has gone but
He waits one hour but when it’s
time, he reads their thoughts
and slits their lies.
Yes Ruddiger Pew is just like you,
and lives at number 32, he’s small
and meek, but hardly weak, a friendly
chap who gives kids sweets.
His hooks glint brightly and with
hands blood red he drags them all
to his slaughter shed.
And then he sprinkles them all in
lime; yes it’s Ruddigers feeding
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