Oh, where did you go to, my lady fair?,
Why, wherever I look why are you there?
In the library, outside Walgreen’s, everywhere,
You haunt my dreams, you poor living nightmare.
Just how did you develop that st-st-st-stutter?
Why do you shuffle along and ceaselessly mutter?
Why do those faded blue eyes peer into the gutter?
What shocking treatment made you our resident nutter?
No cast away dog-end ever escapes your gaze
Despite you wandering ’round in a perpetual daze,
Were you once smoking hot back in your glory days?
Did acid or pipe leave this smoldering testament of user pays?
She looks all too ready for a last trip in a black limousine.
You say I’m a cold callous prick, evil nasty and mean?
No, I am seeing all too clearly what might have been,
Counting my lucky stars and damn glad to be clean.
Sourly Harvey Weinstein shuffles before the Court
Alone, he leans, puffing heavily on his groaning walker,
Not one decent actress offers him comfort or support-
Not one has a good word for Hollywood’s suite stalker.
Harvey can put on an act worthy of an Academy Award,
He’ll claim he’s been wrongly ostracised and victimised,
Anyone in his Company will say ‘he’s universally adored,’
Harv humbly says, face flushed and red as a blushing bride.
But truth be told, The Weener’s future is looking grim,
At long last he’s gonna find he has to embrace his past,
Then when he’s behind bars, who is there to comfort him?
Hold on Harv, you may experience being sexually harassed.
Sorrowfully sitting in his cell
Is new inmate ex-Cardinal Pell,
Publicly his innocence he still professes,
Though to his God he quietly confesses,
‘Lord, it was only the occasional lap lapse;
Lord, hoping for celibacy is all well and good
But there’s little or nun of that in the priesthood.’
But from above, if He heard
There’s not been one little word,
He would have thought one-
The Father or His blessed son-
Or that ethereal wraith-
Would speak to a man of faith,
But yet, not one uplifting sound;
How loud Gods silence doth resound.
Now that Mr Pell has been solitarily confined
He has time to, unmolested, scour his mind,
One day is an eternity in this Hellish place,
Though being banged up in solitary is his saving grace,
George has gone from shooting the papal bull
To hearing a cardinals word is not indisputable,
And what he saw as an innocent Church affair
Is turning into his worst unfrocking nightmare.
The hard harsh word came from on high, from the Pope,
Gods good servant McCarrick had lost his last hope,
The Pope didn’t hear his prayers or poor innocent pleas;
That pained him more than his poor old worn out knees.
Heaven knows, at 88 Theodore can ill-afford
To get unforgivably offside with his good Lord.
All those abuses of power, the secrets Ted held within
Now lay uncovered, obvious as Hell and ugly as sin,
The long serving Cardinal faces a humiliating defrocking,
No blessings for Ted in next year’s Vatican Christmas stocking.
At least when he’s loudly complaining in Purgatory
Many many priests will sympathise with his story.