Saint Upid and the Crusade of Straw and Smoke

Oh hark, ye saints and sinners near,
For Upid’s crusade draweth near!
With straw and smoke we’ll cleanse the shore,
And fill our cups forevermore!

O Peter, my champion bold and grand,
With straw-blade shining, take command!
The devils sail with fruits profane,
Exotic pears that rot the brain!
Go forth and strike with holy flame,
That merchants tremble at my name!

*hic!* Aye, my lord, I’ll fight them all!
With straw I’ll stab, with wine I’ll brawl!
My sword’s as long as sermon lies,
My cup as deep as heaven’s skies!
I’ll burn the boats, I’ll chase the tide—
...if someone holds me while I ride.

Straw and smoke, the holy sign!
Peter’s drunk and Upid’s fine!
With fire we’ll cleanse the sinner’s wake,
And toast until the kingdoms quake!

She screams across the hill and bay:
“Our saint brings dawn, not disarray!
Who mocks his sword or mocks his purse,
Shall find themselves beneath a curse!
So gather pitch and light the night,
The holy smoke will make things right!”

I see... the sails... they’re full of pears!
And maybe apples, no one cares...
I’ll swing my straw, I’ll swing my cup,
Oh saints preserve me — I give up!

Straw and smoke, the faithful call!
Our crusade burns the devils all!
Pour the wine, let Upid boast,
And may his holy liver roast!