Sitting beside a burning fire
I feel the heat of my desire
But my judgment is clouded
By an all or nothing ill demand.
People throw stones from glass house
Accusing me for sheltering a mouse
Making me wonder if I sold time
Will we be after money and prime?
This hot seat has made me to realize
That by default we all have vice,
Though a prostitute may not be discreet
But the pope has his own secret.