TwstdOrange

They're campaigning from the bell-tower, All their faceless heads are twins. As they vow to save those poor poor souls They laugh and stroke their chins.The priest is pleased with their business, For they, any holy place will suffice. Free publicity and forged ballot slips After all, was the message of Christ.And down below, and out of reach, And being saved by noone at all. In the gutter, laughing at a drainpipe Are me and the Cyanide Whore.---The businessman, he's happy, His ties are silk: they told him so. But when he steps out from his Silver Studio tonight He knows he's got no place to go.He bows to feet in a fit of self-pity, Of his ...