In the woods behind the cathedral of St. So and So where I sometimes go

I dig and I dig

But realized the size of the hole was too small for someone so tall

I looked over at Mr. J and he had nothing to say

About my form or my technique

So I dig and I dig some more making the hole bigger than it was before

Ranting about trusting the government and who owns who

And I asked Mr. J if he ever knew

But he had no opinion on the matter or anything for that fact

“Oh, so polite, Mr. J. It’s rude to discuss money, religion, sex, and politics with your guest.”, I jest

Mr. J held his tongue like I held my shovel, sturdy and true while I dig and I dig

I wonder if Mr. J knew of his wife’s unfaithfulness with Father Karl in the perish kitchen

She cried out to God while I watched and I watched

Until Father Karl realized my perversion

He told me he would absolve of my sins and that’s what he did

Because he’s the one who sent me to dig 

And she put on a wig while she passed me the money under the table

Asking if I was able 

To crush Mr. J’s skull with my shovel too dull

Like my little life

“Mr. J, I coveted your wife”, I confessed, “while she was getting railed and praising the Lord.”

But Mr. J didn’t seem to care or maybe he didn’t dare to confront his killer

As I dig and I dig

Getting the hole just right

And I kicked his ass in and finished before the new day’s ligh