In the midnight hour
stalking around the convent
in the dead of the night
waiting for the perfect moment
I feel a brittle breeze
from an unclosed window's pane
a shining, dusted casement
and its softly creaking frame
a moment before mayhem
a calm before the storm
final unheard prayers
from the shadows rises a golden horn
she is no more chaste
that little cunt of light
her honour gone to waste
in the darkness of this night
she is no more pure
that little whore of christ
sin's penetrative cure
buried her alive
next to a nun, a second to fun
teaching the pleasures of the sinful flesh
holy whore forced under my gun
I'm choking her with my dirty, horny fucking breath
chastity forgotten
as she percolates
her never-opened flower
soaks, ejaculates
