A Practical Guide on Killing the Pope

It all begins

With getting in

Lancing perfumed cyanide

Into his cup-on-high

The chalice of right

With cruel fists of might

That will swell

And go to Hell.

I guess another way

Would stab before say

Entombed with roses

In a drag sleep dozes

See his blood

Mingle in a flood

With red

Death bled.

Some say

People occasionally may

Kill with kindness

In total blindness

Whisper with a lilt

You are the hilt

Of a silver sword

Your accord

To twist, mangle

The broken bangles

Of female flesh

That God hath meshed

And that’s why

From Almighty on high

Death shall be

On those who never see.