A Strychnine Kiss - текст песни
A Strychnine Kiss
Cut glass cathedrals slash holes in the air so it always is raining when
We kneel down in prayer.
And Christ leans and laughs... Christ! He's shaking his head cos the wine's
Portugese and the bread's only bread...
No trance, no substance, no conscience for sure as the Pope licks a jackboot
And lays down the law.
And his flock forms a cross -- all fall down in disease. And the only
Survivors are him and his priests.
In them thar seven hills there's a big crock of gold, but it's all stashed
In sacks and belongs to a Pole.
And name any language, he's got something to sell, but if you add it up,
It's a ticket to hell.
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