#02890
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Jesus hangs behind the glass, above venetian doors,
His window box boasts crimson flowers, fresh cut the day before;
And you couldn't find a smile if you nailed it to his face,
But Jesus Christ hangs his head with grace.
And if Venice is sinking, I'm going under;
Beauty's religion and its christened me with wonder.
They came in, bent-backed, creeping 'cross the floor, all dressed in black,
And candles thick as pillars, you can buy one off the floor;
And the ceiling's painted gold, and Mary's hair is red,
The old come here to kiss their dead.
And if Venice is sinking, I'm going under;
Beauty's religion and its christened me with wonder.
We made love on a bed that sagged down to the floor,
In a room that had a postcard on the door of Marini's little man,
With erection up on a horse - it always leaves me laughing,
Leaves me feeling that of course if....
Venice is sinking, I'm going under;
Beauty's religion and its christened me with wonder.
Venice is sinking, I'm going under;
Beauty's religion and its christened me with wonder.