GODSELL

You knock upon my door And openI drink to you.This is a bad trip,somthing about armageddonand pigs possessed by devilsflinging themselves from cliffs.Look back into my house and I may turn to salt.Blackened horizons itch with locusts,whole pieces of earth slumpswallowed by the devils breath;Yea as I walk through the valley of deathwith Lucifer in the crick of my backan avalanche of commands befalls meand I whimper from the cross and catapultin the childs hand,clutching a lock of my own hair,feeling the heat of the burning bushsinge the back of my neck.Three score and ten years of this;Look back into my house and I may turn to salt.Where is the chariot of firewhere is the chariot of fire.I, one piece of thirty pieces of silver,a possessed pig, laugh at the cliffs edge,snort and fling myself to the rocks.When I meet PeterI shall bribe himas I have been bribed.

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