Grand Master

Sacred Inamorata

Wounded
The knight seemed dead

Burgundus crucified

Awash in his own vital fluids
Shrouded in mockery

Recanting the confession
For what use a tortured admittance

Cursing you Vicar of Rome
The Fair defamed

A curse in truth
For after you roasted this messiah
Six months
That is all you had

Your names are anathema
Whilst his countenance is still worshipped

Savoy knew his secret
And so in Turin they housed him

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Monkeys: There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.