Hello, girl, replete with blessings;
Our master accompanies you.
Holy, you are, out of all other girls,
and holy is the offspring in your uterus, a boy.
Blessed girl, progenitor of our deity,
speak to him for all of us wrong-doers,
this moment, and right around the time we’re going to die.
So be it.
About Catastrophe Jones
Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
