He never saw the pistol she raised to pump five shots through his brains
He never saw the pistol she raised to fire five shots at point blank range
She’d looked for good in him, but there was none to be found
So she wiped the blood off her chin and left without a sound
One by one – her sons were laid to rest, dismembered and doused with lye
Her legacy is rumour and a snatch of tawdry rhyme (that reads):
There’s red upon the moon, for Belle was strong and full of doom
And think of all the sailor men who will never see St. Paul again
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