Hell hath no fury than a nun <br />With a gun that could blow up the sun, <br />And let God's will be done. <br /> <br />As holy blood merchants and pimped-out virgins <br />Spawn gangster judge-presidents: they do the crime <br />We do the mime. <br /> <br />As scrapheap poets intone <br />Deadbeat lyrics: and <br />Catatonic bookworms <br />Infest a dunghill, <br /> <br />Down in the valley <br />The bellycrawlers multiply. <br /> <br />A symphony of bombs keeps keening, <br />CRASH/BOOM/BANG: brimful and bright with blood, <br />The night sinks, deepening/darkening everything. <br /> <br />Hell hath no fury than a nun with a gun. <br />Let her blow up the sun, <br />And God have his smile. <br />'Cause, by god, he's won.<br /><br />mandla zibi<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/come-sweet-sleep/
