Sarke The Drunken Priest
Laid out before him
A book of old psalms
His eyes are blinded
By the darkest shades
His mouth is dry like sand
The voice is rusty
Speaks about death and sorrow
And how to save your soul
The drunken priest
On his alter throne
Drowning in wine
And endless funerals
Aroma of wine and vomit
Infects the air
Wearing the hammerhead
Saved by the iron bell
