In the cathedral
Of the castle
In old Ibiza town
With San Juan Pablo
Or Saint John Peter
To you, to me
A happy looking chap
With a rod, with a wave
Wearing a golden gown
His place built by cheap labour
Slaves most likely
According to my friend
Who I must say is not one
To give good grace to the church
In any circumstances
And after climbing all those steps
Struggling up those steep cobbled inclines
There is little or no chance of forgiveness
