​T’was a cold wet night that I stalked alone along the fishing docks,

With only my darkest thoughts to accompany me on this winter evenings walk.
When a chilling scream screached out in horror overtaking the peaceful silent night,
The sound of a woman’s voice caught in the terrible struggle between death and life.
And though I heard the stories mearly tales I passed off as urban legends,
Of a Madman or demon or fiend who even Angel’s hunt, this Fugitive of Heaven.
Leaving trails of ravaged corpse and rotting flesh consumed by Ravens and Vultures,
The West Coast Ripper extraordinaire. The brutal Barbary Coast Butcher.
Who’s hateful eyes burned as burning coals and who’s teeth are razor sharp as a sharks,
He who hunts in the cover of total blackness finding his next unfortunate masterpiece in the midnight dark.
As I hurried myself through the fog towards uncertainty, both fear and excitement overcame my every ability
To make sense of my actions for I was heading in Doom’s direction,
Maybe to help her poor soul or pehaps question mighty Death’s selection.
Sweet sweet Butcher bringer of eternity and all its unfathomable answers, 
the conductor of the dance beneath the pale moonlight. The Necronomicon Ex Mortis’ keeper and romancer.
Who’s masterpiece written in the blood of innocence condemns all who visit his ghastly gallery.
For every souls meets grim end when the piper plays the Butcher’s deathly melody.
And as I came upon the grissly scene from where our lady breathed her last,
I caught a reflection smiling in the puddle of blood that startled me as I laughed.
T’was the reflection of that brutal Butcher lost in all his rage and insanity. 
And not another living soul present for the Butcher of the Barbary Coast was none other than Me.
I AM Guilty.