There was no hope

   in empty sighs

    bright drafts of beer

    dirty wood stools 

    and bar 

   laughter

     Say don't I know you

     the horses aren't running no more

  too many put down

    now they bet on who will be Pope!

  Parish Hopper in the third?

  Nah, Fat and Shiny

Celibate my Ass! in the fourth

  Let's go or we'll be late

   But still no hope

  busted in Vatican pool rooms

   Swiss Guards lancing

   tequila drinkers

   Where can we get some tamales?

   for you I suggest Lichtenstein 

 Oh okay fuck you

  Cuckoo clocks 

In five hundred years