do not ring for me now that I have milked cows and for woman died on DoubleCross.
Bell that rings for Mass and death and wedding, do not ring for me now that I have milked cows and for woman died on DoubleCross. I shall stay here; the stench of my carcass' sour milk gotten off my DD chest suffices. What's nice in all that, the thus lock on the door so that I will not escape when the HydrogenBomb cops some nappyhaired some blond (the only ones besides Maintenance y'know with guns and keys here to blowaway Vlad Putin's patsy, and Donald Trump approves re-elected to kill and rape any gurl RonDesantis and the American KGBClub selected. The Churchservice over and no bell tolling me, the airconditioner and carwrecks on streets below blowjob blowout botch) AND ghosts of BillyGrahamMinistry and other bell-tolled told miseries smother me.