Yeah, come on up, come on, I see you back there. Yeah, bring the little ones too.

Don't be shy, everyone. Go ahead, toss your bundle on the fire. Oh, I see the Crispos. Wonderful family.

Have a big bundle if I've ever seen one. Let the story take your regrets, your misfortunes,

and turn it into ash. Mm-hmm. That's a fine fire we have, and it lights the night so brightly.

Well, I suppose we ought to start. The story must be told, everyone.

The story must be told. Thank you all for joining us on this special night. As much as I love our church building, the simple wood ornamentation, and the troughs below our feet to catch our sluicey juices.

It invigorates the flesh to be among nature, to smell her dews, cool in her breath,

and light a fire to damn her strangle of night.

I'd also like to thank Miss Threatchalong for the beautiful guitar playing.

It's beautiful.

Really sets the mood.

We stand here silhouetted by the pyre of our disobedient animals,

crisping and fires unrelenting blaze.

I see cats in there, cats who wouldn't sleep at night.

I see dogs, I see dogs who wind,

and I see birds, oh so so many birds who weren't nearly attractive enough.

Their feathers light of real nice.

Sometimes man fails at taming nature, so whenever our shame requires it on a night like this, we send it back to goddamn hell.

Let us share now a Psalm to consecrate this fire. Flapping bird

Dirty feet

Doesn't drink

Doesn't eat

...