Mendacity

 

St Fibbulus the Greater pours a blessing on the age,

The muse of politicians and of prelates and the stage

He fills the lines of packaging each cranny every nook,

And every type of magazine each paper and each book.

 

St Fibbulus the Greater knows the child upon your knee,

He opens up the iron gate that sets the prisoner free,

The social science of tower blocks he laid most every brick,

And ponders with magicians as they form the newest trick.

 

St Fibbulus the Greater helps the salesman at your door,

He helps the erring doctor tell you just what lays in store,

The car mechanic knows him and he’s in at the repair,

And thanks to him the caring trades are always always there.

 

St Fibbulus the Greater sees the start of every war

He’s first with the I love you and the profit of the whore,

He understands the need in man for anger and for pain,

And in the sweat of lovers’ songs it’s here he comes again.

 

St Fibbulus the Greater feels the start of each romance,

He holds you in his gentle grip the dancer and the dance,

The truest truth you ever know was written by his pen,

And he is sometime everything and all to all of men

 

St Fibbulus the Greater carves his runes into the stone,

His essence creeps inside us into heart and blood and bone,

He is our inner covenant the secret parts within,

And who of all the sinners here would call his wisdom sin.

 

St Fibbulus the Greater is much needed by mankind,

To oil the wheels of industry to make the axe feel kind,

To tell a gentle story when the pain is far too real,

And to explain when reasons wit denies the way we feel.

 

St Fibbulus the Greater is a balm to rest the soul,

Where truth is pain this gentle saint can make the troubled whole,

Who cares what glories waited had we not endured the fall,

When great and good St Fibbulus makes fibbers of us all.