The Lord have woken on your laps again,
To anoint little souls behind the pulpit.
This holy candle you lights up every time,
It has never stopped melting under the infant’s skirts.
You wore your gospel like amber bangles,
Squeezing out holy wine out of dry fruits,
To perform your HORNNY CUMmunion.
Here are now the innocents,
With swollen nipples and sour songs,
We make this coffin,
For each blood that stained your “cap”
We sing this threnody,
For each dead cell of your semen.
And we burn this boat,
For the journey you’ve driven our minors too.
“Let the children come to me..”
How sweet is the voice of your Lord.
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