FATIMA

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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!"