On Tumbledown, no doubting of our love,

No bishopric’s accusing finger points,

Proclaiming: ‘Gays can’t die for God above,

Or marry Harry, Jessica or George’!

No holy men in dresses and big hats,

Will stem this bloody flow, or hold my hand,

Or sing my soul aloft; no music wafts

Along the breeze from England’s pleasant land.

Are you still there, Jim? God, it’s blo...

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