A Strychnine Kiss - The Legendary Pink Dots

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 jack- boot and lays down the law

And his flock form a cross--all fall down with 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