Preston Jones was a sick little boy He looked at blades and thought them a toy His father was first, a knife in his back His mother soon followed, eyes full of tacks
His sister and brother were next on the list Hacked to pieces, he swallowed the bits Away he ran into the darkness of Queens A bloody trail followed to show where he'd been.
The body count grew, the police were perplexed With each corpse, the city grew vexed. They found him, they found him, one bright sunny day Asleep with a victim who he kept to play.
They beat him and shot him and yet he survived. He animated his victim to the policeman's surprise. He made his escape wounded and bleeding. He's been trapped many times, stabbed and lynched
He has always escaped, with the dead following him.
Notes: I wanted to have this done for Halloween, but life got in the way. Moral Decay was a character I used when I played City of Villains.