Excerpts from song lyrics by Frank Fitzpatrick
Copyright© 1990 to 1997 Francis L. Fitzpatrick
All Rights Reserved

L.P.S. Imperial Robes It Didn’t Really Bother Me
Doctor, won’t you help me,
Tell me what can it be?
My perpetrator’s saying that I’ve got “false memories,”
But I know that he raped me,
Terrorized me day and night.
What can we call this ploy from hell
To keep the truth from sight?

Lyin’ Perpetrator Syndrome (L.P.S.),
Lyin’ Perpetrator Syndrome (That’s what it is)
Lyin’ Perpetrator Syndrome . . .

Rich man, poor man, beggar man, priest,
Doctor, lawyer, judge, or police...
Upon the ocean, Of blind devotion,
Floats human misery. . . .

Imperial robes! Imperial robes!
Take off the blinders for their fashion show.
Imperial robes! Imperial robes!
They’re just the Emperor’s new clothes. . . .


It didn’t really bother me.
It didn’t really bother me.
Least not as much as it did you.
It didn’t really bother me.

I shrugged it off and carried on
What’s past is past, what’s gone is gone.
His children should be safe, I’d say.
Let’s let it go, put it away. . . .


Leave It in the Hands of the Lord Questions Picture of What
Leave it in the hands of the Lord.
Leave it in the hands of the Lord.
Now do what you’ve been told, good sheep within our loyal fold,
Leave it in the hands of the Lord.

When James Porter was a seminary student,
Not even yet ordained as a priest,
He molested several boys at Cathedral Catholic Camp,
But one brave little soul told on him. . . .

Basement room of the rectory,
Hid the sins of the priest,
Cornering the altar boys,
Slipped his hand inside their pants,
Probing, touching, sneaking sex attacks.

How many Hail Marys did you say,
As penance for children that you raped? . . .


He loves you,
Like a fist put through a window,
Like a cave catching a snowstorm,
Like new buckets in a well,
He thinks a you swell,
And ebb,
Like the tide,
Like a wave as it laps the shore,
Like hot lava on rocks that's poured
Like Apollo stuck in the Moon . . .


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