"Then let him be the judge of your pitiful soul."
"Would any figure in any name of any glory condemn the 6 month old girl, or one yet unborn?"
The choir forges it's last melody
The church bells ring one final toll
Deep voices emerge unseen beneath thee
It will be the naysayer at your door
As you scream blasphemy and wrathful things
torn away from the heat you live for
As you are forced to watch the unhappy coupling
of the ones you love and utter despair.