The Sunday Bells

The Sunday Bells bellowed their might
Organ pipes that grind and shite

Viscous tubes of terror and fright
Pumping and pissing the afterlife

Fuck your religion and dogma and creed
Fuck Roman and Catholic bastions of greed

Don’t roll out the credo of faith in my face
With the froth of the lies and the scum you misplace

When all is lost and nothing is left
The hand from behind pulls back on your chest

And hands you a hymn and throws you a quote
And forces the vomit right up to your throat

Thrice daily they tell you to slaughter the goat
And feast on the filth of the flesh of the flock

For mine is the Kingdom, the power the right
To empty my head and fill it with tripe.

Chris Olley 1995


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