stabat mater


Lord at thy right hand how mighty

is the failure of him who goes

to the heaven of heavens where the last crow

clicks his droughty maw

in the high season of sorrow and yet

how slumbersome the other hand crying out

upon thee with the wicked in some ghastly place


fathers of great houses said no

we will have the closest to home

what was after came down to dicers

in the street dicing for his raiment


wherewith he was clad