We're all theives

I ride through each season, spring to fall,
With my trusty pig bones and purple shawl

With peters finger, and josephs eye
Through the streets of Yorkshire my voice will cry;
Come hither, come hither, come to me
Salvation is worth this financial fee
If you’re right eye sins pluck it out,
If you’re left hand sins cut it off
But why lose body parts I say?
Come hither come hither and pay this cost!
As they heard, these convictionless words, from every direction they surely came
Holding all kinds of jewellery; silver coins and golden chains;
Pardon me, pardon me, they moaned and cried, together in one whole symphony,
Come hither, come hither, again a cried
Come hither come hither come to me.
And as I was gazing through the crowd I locked into his infuriated glance
His eyes were red, his nostrils flaring, staring at me with a hostile stance
His hair was as white as his pallid collar,
His clerical blouse blowing to and throw
He gestured me into the church:
He was a bishop; I had to go
He slammed the door, in total abhor
And asked if I knew the town’s wealth
These people are in poverty! He cried
And you are worse than King John himself!
Insult after insult, curse after curse
He insulted my family and insulted my worth
Leaving my profits on the wooden floor,
He said I was to pardon the people no more.

The chains of guilt bound me down
And decided to not let me free
So instead I up and left,
And settled down in Canterbury.
I had to go and pay penances and savour the remains of my after life
So I departed to the local cathedral with all my children and my wife
We walked across the local town, and made a checkpoint to go and buy some meat
When I saw pardoner outside the church, preaching loudly on the street.
I thought:

Let me pay my penance now and rid myself of my sinner’s fee
When I looked up towards the pardoner
And found the “bishop of York” staring back at me!