Full House! Three Jacks Two Queens

[Hymn Of Absolution] This man, a being be born of futile means. Is apt a specimen of sordid mess. Fermented liquor has his bloodwork grimed. A hit and run mistaken, a never committed crime. Now crooning a thirst so parched for incisions to be made. Unto the skin of these sinners defiled a stench of his hate. Slowly one's predeceasing in pitch black before another. Inside this place confined, he torments 'til death waits no longer. "O lord above! I prithee! Bestow me a vein of musing! For I was faithful in thine apocryphal existence! That I have now regretted!" Slowly one's predeceasing in pitch black before another. Inside this place confined he torments 'til death waits no longer. This man!