The Friar and His Almanac

A man I once knew from the desolate slums
Who poured out his soul to the celibate scum
The peasant who hung from the devilish tongue
The priest of the pirate who peddles in puns

Had such a great fervor and feverish thrill
With dreadlocks and deadlocks and simplest of skill
That, still in the pillbox of Calgary Hill
The friars took arms and were ready to kill

The battle to wage was a frivolous one
Encouraged by Peter and Presbyter John
The question at hand was if war could be won
As so went the drum, ra pum pa-pum pa-pum.

And who could endeavor in blackest of times?
The Baptist is severed, a platter to find
The passions of passives entombed in the lime
Is pleasant and present and ready to climb

The smoke and gunpowder and cavalry ride
Recall and enthrall all of those on the line
In order and rank as the flank, it does hide
The war has begun with all reason aside

That man I once knew from the desolate slums
Who poured out his heart to the hellish of scum
Had died from an arrow that pierced through his tongue
As so went the drum, ra pum pa-pum pa-pum.