We can all spit on those tablets of stone, the trinity's on hiatus, the devil's alone, School's out for training it's raining hell fire and the bishops are recording the antediluvian choir.
Noah's going to Goa, A lot safer than here, they say Indian beer's the best. With his wood and an axe and several packs of cool Cobra, he sails into the wind and ends up in the Gobi.
On the edge of a rainbow 'jump Noah', 'don't go', two people are shouting, somebody's outing the sailor.
The choir got wrecked on microdot specks and suspecting the worst, the bishops in Rome all spit on the tablets hacked out from rough stone, it was a quiet day in the Vatican, no miracles pronounced in Perpignan, no Lady of Lourdes, no shroud of Turin, only the blessing of Geneva dry gin. Angels with harps all ****** as farts and the devil sits alone.