In her blistering love
Of the Sistine Ceiling
She wasn't listening to you
She was feeling a feeling
And the feeling was true

In her wuthering heart
A flutter was forming
Like a word or a feeling
Filled with impotent longing
But her paint was congealing

Sanctimoniousness, said the Priest

I really like myself. All dicks do. I've had a great time living and I'm excited to die. Everyone else is excited for that day too. Become atoms and energy in the universe of my dick and balls. Visit the planets of farts in billions of years _ when the earth sighs from boredom and releases us all from it's ass. Pain in your anus is a gift. What about all the flecks of shit in between? And shades of grey and gold and piss? Sadness. Nausea. Rain. Sunshines from my vangelis. Mundanity. Sanctimoniousness.
Sanctimoniousness said the Priest.