Cider cooking in the woodshed
Blood-red sunrise in the trees
Front gate squeals on rusty hinges
Cold enough for oil to freeze
People in the town were talking
About what Jack Dupree had done
Threads & slivers of a story
Of a madman come undone
They'd found a drifter by the levee
Buried underneath the leaves
In his frozen fist a button
From the vest of Jack Dupree
Sheriff found the second victim
Off the side of the highway
Another button torn in panic
Just a couple feet away
Third & fourth in quick succession
Both had clawed & fought to breathe
Both tore patches of the fabric
From the vest of Jack Dupree
Winter comes on in New England
Like an icy hurricane
And here we find our wayward killer
In the sleet & freezing rain
Though he clutches to him rags of flannel
A collar here, a pocket there
Memories of threads & murder
Cannot warm the winter air
It was over by December
Not another soul was lost
When springtime came,
they found their killer
In a glaze of morning frost