Stop the sounds of the celibate
For they know not what they say
I just smashed into their window last week
And they still are all so irate
They claim I took their daughters
And made them eat from the pulpit
But do the religious
Not understand
The demons are below man?
Alas, that is by genuine geographical coordinates
You taste like shit
Pastor, pope, priest
All smell like yeast
Pastor, pope, priest
Why do the skies look like a feast?
Pastor, pope, priest
I have something good to eat.
Pastor, pop, priest
Get out of my head because I'm merely just trying to have a good night's sleep!
YOU ARE READING
Incoherent Poetry from the Depths
Horror(The painting in the cover is by painter Nicola Samori) Do y'ever just wish to feel the chills of the ethereal down your spine? Have you wondered what life is like outside your material universe? Did you ever posit the idea, that a good bout of uns...
