Jack was a poor kid,
Grew up in an orphanage
and Never saw the happiness that came with time.
Saw the harsh dealings that the cold world offered,
And hung his head low, sad to say.
Took the last name of the lady who raised him,
A orphanage worker named Mrs. Napel...
but not even she could stop what was to come,
When he turned eightteen and bought himself a gun
and proeceeded to rob the local drug store,
And off he went running into the snow.
Saw the harsh dealings that the cold world offered,
And took off and ran with them.
A vagabond in rich man's clothing,
Jack ransacked town after town
with cunning and slyness and tricks.
It was quite a fix,
In a green zoot suit and a wide brimmed hat
The world belonged to him.
Saw the harsh dealings that the cold world offered,
And laughed them in the face.
And then Jack made the fatal mistake,
He fell for the girl, he stole from the mob.
It was only a matter of time after all...
...Until they got him with a .45 to the chest
A bit of faulty handling with a faulty bullet-proof vest
And by the time the clock chimed midnight, he breathed his last.
Saw the harsh dealings that the cold world offered,
And gave it one last final hurrah.
Author notes
I was painting for a final when all the sudden the painting became a boy named Jack. And now I am planning a comic about him and his adventures in the 1940s crime world.
Keasbey Nights...
Comments
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i love your creative mind!! this is setup for a great comic/story. i can see it now.....
great poem as well. the words flowed great to keep the story going and the repetitive parts kept the 1940s part swingin. lol
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I love the idea and the creativity, but i dont (in my opinion) find this to be one of your best. But again, i love the plot of it
<333
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i know what you mean. the beat is kinda off. XD I just wanted to get the idea out there and i think I hit it, idea wise. thankies =D
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