THE POLITICALLY CORRECT CHURCH
I see you. I see clearly through you. I see all you want me to see. I see much you don’t want me to see. You stand, you rack of dry parched bones. Sandwiched between to panes of fleshly glass. You’re a hanger for the big formal robes. You’re covered in drivel of Political Correctness. Parishioners... Sign in to see full entry.