And some people find the taste of pilgrim guts to be too strong
Me, I find I can’t get by without them for too long

I wander thro’ each charter’d street
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe

In every cry of every Man
In every Infant’s cry of fear
In every voice, in every ban
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear

How the Chimney-sweeper’s cry
Every black'ning Church appalls
And the hapless Soldier’s sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot’s curse
Blasts the new-born Infant’s tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

London by William Blake

Exorcised some demons in church last night... Thanks Scout.

Beautiful night in the chapel last night