Tristan Robert Lange

Devilishly Dreadful: Resting Place

Autumn’s air is chilled.

Bustlin’ voices natter street.

A customer sits.

Fall clothing adorned;

Fella seems ter be wealthy.

It drizzles dahn the street.

Leant ‘im all comfy,

Foam applied to a strong face,

Warm in fall’s crisp air.

‘E likes a close shave,

Makes ‘im feel alive, ‘e says.

Tallow soap—mint oil.

‘E smiles and ‘e shuts his eyes.

The latch clicks—the drop sudden.

Clunked ‘im, did I, right proper on ‘is ‘ead—

Quite a wallop, ‘e’s a stunned sad young bloke—

Dahn stairs the ol’ crone will make sure ‘e’s dead.

Quite a wallop, ‘e’s a stunned sad young bloke—

‘Is lady—that’s me—slices throats like bread—

Clunked ‘im, did I, right proper on ‘is ‘ead.

‘Is lady—that’s me—slices throats like bread;

Not to be tossed, but something else instead—

Quite a wallop, ‘e’s a stunned sad young bloke.

Not to be tossed, but something else instead—

Pies need lots o’ meat if they’re fillin’.

‘Is lady—that’s me—slices throats like bread.

Pies need lots o’ meat if they’re fillin’—

Lovett’s got the best meat pies in London.

Not to be tossed, but something else instead—

Lovett’s got the best meat pies in London—

Clunked ‘im, did I, right proper on ‘is ‘ead—

Quite a wallop, ‘e’s a stunned sad young bloke—

‘Is lady—that’s me—slices throats like bread.

Originally posted on tristanrobertlange.com, September 15, 2025.

Tittu