A Strychnine Kiss Lyrics - 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 jackboot 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. 

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