Our lover's got humor,she's the giggle at a funeral.Knows everybody's disapproval,I should have worshipped her sooner.If the heavens ever did speak,she's the last true mouthpiece.Every Sunday's getting more bleak,the fresh poison each week.We were born sick,you heard them say it.My church offers no absolutes She tells me worship in the bedroomThe only heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with youI was born sick,but I love itCommand me to be well AmenTake me to church I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lightshowers like a dog in astronomylines, I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knifeoffer me that deathless death of your godlet me give you my lifeCome on!
