Babylon the Great

Sometimes the wine has gone bad and I drink it like whiskey: from a thick glass; slam it down hard on the table and make a face.

I have been misjudged.

   John the Divine has me all wrong. And if that's blasphemy, well, it's the end of the world and I'll find out soon enough anyway.
   It's not the blood of the saints, it's not the blood of the martyrs of Jesus—it's just wine: It's cheap; it's Italian; it's not very good. I have one head, no horns, and these days am practically Vestal. So don't get me wrong. Street-corner sandwich-board preachers are one thing, but I had higher hopes for you.
   So give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. I make no war with any lamb, overcometh or not. But the woman which thou seest is that great city, which reigneth over the kings of the earth, and on my forehead is a name written: MYSTERY.