Having messed up my Church but never my beliefs: heres the way I look at things. I was raised in Brownberie Lane; from there you're on your own. Just like I was.

From BrownBerry Lane to brownberry patch
From swinging a thurible to scritching an atch
From studying worlds, then learning their times
In dusty old rooms then reacting to chimes
To take you to Mass while reflcting on dead
The priests were the reason
The newspaper said.
And rise the next morning from sleep on your knees
And heartfelt and deep in your soul saying "PLEASE
God don't let an innocent die."
Then go back to work when
God said: "So did I."