I went with the Warlord To the Big English Church To start the Holy War On Christmas. I’d been to three churches that day At each There’d been a different note played Of the same Ancient hymn That we heard on the Pipes that evening. The stain glassed windows Showed their colors only in shades of grey And their shapes were no longer biblical I pictured the crusades in their fuzzy night-time look. There was an Operative there In a long Red Jacket With black lips And purple under her eyes.
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