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'Jesu, as a youth,
To Alexandria came
Where the men went with boys
And the girls did the same.
Where was peacocks and temples
And beautiful things
Magick and learning
And soft, sighing strings.
Beautiful Jesus
How hard to return
To crappy old Isreal
Where the sun always burns
Most beautiful Jesu,
With his long golden hair
He would die in Golgotha
It was really not fair.
Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus
I wouldn't mention it twice,
But is this, for the author,
The last roll of the dice?'
I don't know about anyone else, but if I was an active god form, still worshiped all round the world for whatever reason, for better or worse, I'd now be thinking very hard about ways to make sure that Ann Rice could never, ever, hear surf music again. |
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