of montreal
how lester lost his wife
First there was the fable of the bull Told by the picador  Then an Orwellian raping of a virgin apple core An apple core, an apple core, an apple Core, an apple core, an apple  Next our minds were supping up the horrors That our vicious master's whip Was serving us in rituals nefariously hip Wickedly hip, wickedly hip, wickedly Hip, wickedly hip, wickedly  I had to don a disguise to see her slinking down The snaking hallways to her chamber But I wasn't prepared to encounter the vision  Of she and it engaged in defiling of the sacred In an instant her face became so plaintive  And I watched as she transformed Into the Black Amaranth   The next morning I espied In a window framed in brass The story of her condemnation Portrayed in the stained glass In the stained glass In the stained glass, in the stained Glass, in the stained glass, in the stained Glass