Hear the melody for which your soul did pine
In your mind you see a fountain and shrine
'Twas a dream just too bright to last
A star that did arise just to be overcast!

"Can be, can be this a holy thing to see?
In lands so rich that more could never be
Lots of people reduced to live in misery
So many children that curse their destiny?
And all good people are happy and dance and sing
Sated with praising their Lord, his priest and king!
Oohh, damn it all!"

The priest sat by and could hear the child
His heart flared up an' he felt running wild
He led the kid on by his curly hair
And everybody admired the priestly care
And standing solemn up on the altar high
"look, what a fiend," said, "the worst that
you could find!
One who set reason and thinking up for judge
Of Holy Heaven, owing God a grudge!
Unholy child!"

The child wept out an excuse unheard
His kit and kin cried out in vain
They stripped him of his clothes and little shirt
And bound him tightly in an iron chain
And led him away to suffer at the stake
They burnt him to death, oh, in a holy place
Where many others, yes, had been burnt before:
A holy Thursday just as many more
As many more

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