The Lament of St. Upid (Farewell to the Holy Rags)

Oh woe… oh woe to me, the forsaken one…
These faithless clods, these thankless brutes,
They stripped me of my sacred gown,
Tore off the halo I claimed as my own.
Cruel, cruel hands of the unbelieving herd…
How could they wrong the holiest saint
That ever walked these muddy streets?

And now that nest of snakes — that council of fools —
Gnaws at my heels like rabid dogs,
Hanging on every bleat
From the Four Sisters of Nonsense.
A flock of sheep! A pen of idiots!
Bah, bah, say the little lambs…
And the knife is for me.

So must I give it up…
My holy shine, my sacred mask…
The glory I took for myself.
Farewell, blessed radiance—
I must crawl back
To being simple Donny T…

Still slow — bitterness and self-pity grow

No casino scam nor miracle degree
Ever filled my pockets half as well
As being Heaven’s favorite fraud.
But the vault is running dry,
The walls closing in,
And the jailers sharpening their keys…

So now I pack my bags with tears—
Gold chains, ruby rings, the loot of saints—
All stuffed into my holy sack.
I must flee to foreign shores
Before humiliation blooms complete,
Before these worms throw me in a cell.

Oh pity me… pity St. Upid…
Pity Donny T…

But oh! What a shame, my friends,
That the rope never met his neck!
That the chopping block never felt
His bright orange crown!
Alas, alas! Fate was kind—
Too kind by half!

Still, his mighty wobbling backside
Met the burning iron’s kiss—
A glowing brand, a mark of shame
Stamped on the holy rump!
A sight to see! A blessed sign!
A warning for fools who’d lick his boots
When he plots the next grand con.

See it shine! See it glow!
A halo for the other end!
Let his future loyal minions know—
Beware the mark! Beware the man!

And off he ran,
Gold clanking in his sack,
Smoke rising from his saintly rear—
Donny T escaping fast!

Ha!
Ha ha!
Ha ha ha ha ha!
And the whole town laughed him off the pier!