Dark is the murderous life ; Bleak boned the mind .
Cruel are the wandering thoughts , and the ropes that bind .
The chilling deeds that I do are making me ill .
I'm the serial killer of Muswell Hill .

Grey are the clothes ; Monochrome face .
Alcohol and ligatures , marked with volatile days .
Lonely young men , alone in The Smoke .
Invited to my place , for a drink and a choke .

Eyed up and singled out , in London's pubs and bars .
The Railway Tavern , the Black Cat , the Moon and Seven Stars .
My friendly facade belies my true intentions .
I want to strangle you to death , no relenting .

I want to watch your dimming eyes pop out your head .
I want to feel you struggle , and gasp for every breath .
Do things with your body , lifeless and cold .
Completely win you over ; Take Total Control .

As the loving rope is tightly twisted ,
the mind is freed from all the pain .
I can take you to the brink of death ,
then slowly bring you back again .

Keep you with the other ones , underneath the floor .
Tie you up in curtain shrouds , love you even more .
No one will, sadly , ever miss you .
You're my necromancing whore .

Drag you out in the dead of night , wash you in the bath .
Your body smells of Fairy Liquid ; Mild , green , midnight madness .
Sit with me and watch T.V. , warming by the three bar glow .
You can never leave me , I've got Total Control .

You are the body beautiful , in the bedside shadow light .
Reflected in the many mirrors , arranged each lonely night .
Perfect for me in every way , notwithstanding that you're dead ,
from the tips of your toes to your curly haired head .

White powder body , charcoal eyes , and bluish lips .
I've got a schizoid personality , morality does not fit .
Things seem to have gone terribly wrong ;
Here's a poem that I wrote about it , just for you ...

Sweet . ( by Dennis Nilsen ) .

" Here in the hall of plenty there is nothing now.
Just you
Lying under my hands ,
With shadowy figures approaching
With some formalities
To take you into their ' system ' ,
And me .
Think over
The lonely life of you .
It is tomorrow soon enough
And they will meddle in our business .
Privacy has no boundaries
Which cannot be breached
By the law's charges " .

I must dress now and prepare for a final day of freedom .
Walk the dog , replace the floorboards .
There can be no more cover up , I know the form .

Wearing his blue and white scarf ,
I lit a Marlboro ,
and stepped out into my last legend .