The priestly fathers love to laugh at Quasimodo
A dirty-broken gypsy boy, who climbed like a monkey.
Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, our joys & desires.*
Priests, bejewelled with gold crucifix, lusted after young Esmeralda
Her wild gypsy eyes flashed and she kicked and she tore and she screamed.
To save Esmeralda, magically, Quasimodo lifted Esmeralda into the heavens above Notre Dame cathedral, here in Paris.
The bells of Notre Dame which had so deafened dear Quasimodo
Hymned Esmeralda and she knew her gypsy soul was no longer hers alone
She loved Quasimodo.

The priestly fathers knew how blood smelt drying in the sun and their minions hunted tirelessly for these absconders,
Quasimodo knew the walls of Notre Dame like the back of his hand, he hid them away and they lived in the heights with wild abandon.
For a time, Esmetalda and Quasimodo knew what it was to be happy, to be free of sin
Unlike these priestly fathers who love to see a hanging, an Auto-da-fé when they could watch a firecart burn the living flesh of heretics

Esmeralda didn’t judge Quasimodo by his deformities, she pitied his broken body but she loved his soaring soul
And now, long after the fathers’ bodies have rotted and turned to dust and their souls damned for all eternity
The wild eyes of these two gypsy souls still shine above the rebuilt Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris.

* - William Blake, 'The Garden of Love' 

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