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.

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