Song to repressed female fury

Oh, my God. Lord Almighty!
Lend me your stairway to heaven.
We need counsel again.
Virago is dead, in black,
she let her hair down and rode a long
winding. By fire, light, her heart
shunned. Their wisdom? Evil pretenders.

The fruit of their loins, widowed,
in war and pestilence. Survived.
Every time, every which way, we
loose. Brimful, we come and go.

It’s roasting, farcire!
It rains cats and dogs,
sometime snarling, vulgare, unforgiving.
Nothing to repent. Their time is spent.
Boom and bust, poh!
Damask. Excelsior. Amen .