Acid Trips with Angels, aka Revelation (A Poem)

Put thy hands upon ears for there will be horns

Trumpets from heaven and bowls of blood

French kisses cut with double-edged tongues

More numbers than math class

They just don’t add up


My name’s John. I’m a dealer with all the best drugs

I took something strong to conjure this up

Unclean stuff overflows the Queen’s cup

The fornicators are going to be fucked


Beasts and lambs and scorpion stings

Crowns and rings and thrones and things

Doctor Suess ain’t got nothing on me

He rhymes so un-religiously


Insistently, I insist, you must listen

For in this code is something you’re missin’

Santa God has a V-I-P list

Critical thinkers – you’re not on it

So come with me and smoke this shit


We’ll get higher than heaven

Like birds, we will fly

One hundred and forty-four cubits high

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