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A Strychnine Kiss
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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

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