Who Gets the Pope’s Nose?

Peter Porter - Non-Music, British Literature
Who Gets the Pope’s Nose?
0 Plays
Duration: 1:53
Lyrics
It is so tiring having to look after the works of God The sea will run away From martyr's feet, gay Dissipated Florentines kiss tumours out of a man's head Scheduled liquefactions renew saint's blood In Andean villages starved Inca girls Develop the stigmata Dying dogs pronounce the Pater Noster on the vivisection table, the World Press report trachoma'd eyes that drip wide pearls All investigated, all authenticated, all Miracles beyond doubt Yet messengеrs go in and out The Vatican fills up with paper. The faithful Work for a Mеrchant God who deals in souls Was there ever a man in Nazareth who was King of Kings? There is a fat man in Rome To guide his people home Bring back the rack and set the bones straining For faith needs pain to help with its explaining Fill a glass with water and gaze into it There is the perfect rule Which no God can repeal Having to cope with death, the extraordinary visit Ordinary man swills in a holy sweat And high above Rome in a room with wireless The Pope also waits to die God is the heat in July And the iron band of pus tightening in the chest Of all God's miracles, death is the greatest
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Credits
- Writers
- Peter Porter