
IN THE YEAR
TWO THOUSAND FIVE
In the year of Our Lord,
In the year two thousand five,
Two thousand progressed pilgrims showed
The Faith is truly alive.
Sacred music loud and blaring,
As a godless rival good,
But on the holy Fatima ground
The planet's pilgrims stood.
Louder and louder
Our Mother's Church own,
Played pretty polyphony
So pilgrims might moan.
They tried and tried
To disorient --
But our penanced pilgrims
Prayed with all bent.
And, yes, it was...psychological
No physical martyrdom --
But the wearing down of the psyche's soul
But these psyches' souls were plum,
Because this pilgrims procession
From the Holy Mass had come
With their hearts and souls keeping the beat
Of the Church's Militant drum.
And when that drum is beating,
With Catholic soul and heart,
There never will be a competing
When Triumphant takes her part.
For Church Triumphant's made of souls
Who fought the fight and won...
And to godless rival goods they say,
"We've only just begun!"

