Filius flashes, eleison crashes 
and Jericho smashes again
Titular washes, old men in galoshes
are pishing and toshing til ten
Madrigal masses move on through molasses
while half-witted lasses shake tins
Stoned under mosses, thirteen gilded josses
count all of our losses as wins
kyrie, kyrie, Kylie's sainted arse
a Sufi speculates:
this too shall pass