I Often he speaks with the charm of an angel, his words filliping the minds that listen like a feather He is the priest standing by the altar of unrighteousness...
the preacher spat into our ears his very Truth Now our ears sting, stink my ears sting; He has started a riot of tongues of tongues and has killed the...
We want to watch our mothers Clamber the hills of ecstasy And briskly touch ourselves in pursuit. The father without shame pummels His daughter with the rod Not meant for...