The Martyr's Day Parade

Chatiment,

There is no sweeter sound, than the melody of vengance,

But I would suffer discordant agonies forevermore,

Than attend the Martyr's Day Parade:

 

Where dogs drink civil blood from dirty glasses,

And Bartholomew weeps for ill-starred masses,

Borbourn knives break righteous blades,

Howling hateful balladads, innocence prayed,

"Come one, come all,

Christus, St Paul,

The true religion shall not fall"

The Martyrs Day Parade!

 

Gaspard, Gaspard,

You fell too hard,

...On the Martyrs Day Parade