Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber Poem by Shaun Cronick

She makes the juiciest tastiest pies in the land,
Crammed with sweet meats by her own hand.
Mrs Lovett's reputation is true I heartly agree,
The freshest meat pies in London her legacy

After three fleshy pies I call in next door,
A barber's shop for a short back and sides.
As I enter he greets me with a thin false smile,
And sits me down to my final bloody demise.

We are alone, me and this most un-charming man,
A puzzling side lever next to the comfy chair I sit in.
I think nothing of it as begins his sharp cutting,
Then he chuckles revealing a wide demonic grin.

He pulls my head back then slashes my throat,
Fountains of blood gushing over razor and room.
He then pulls on the lever as the floor gives way,
The seat tilts back and I plunge down to my doom.

In the darkness below I dwell on my last thoughts
A mere lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice unto God.
I'm another one of many Victorian London's murders,
By the hand's of the evil barber named Sweeney Todd