Whence the saint felt himself
Aggrieved by the sinuous blight
His apostles stood meek
Bequeathed off consensus malign
And its weight so foreboding
His shoulders denied

Ever so slight

And the ***** cursed her bane
As inimical smites bore her brain
She spoke in a slur
"Tug on my nape as you pierce me this night,
So a passage may emerge
From this face you despised"

*Ever so slight