| My lover’s got humour
|
| She’s the giggle at a funeral
|
| Knows everybody’s disapproval
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| I should’ve worshipped her sooner
|
| If the heavens ever did speak
|
| She’s the last true mouthpiece
|
| Every Sunday’s getting more bleak
|
| A fresh poison each week
|
| «We were born sick»
|
| You heard them say it
|
| My church offers no absolutes
|
| She tells me «worship in the bedroom»
|
| The only heaven I’ll be sent to
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| Is when I’m alone with you
|
| I was born sick, but I love it
|
| Amen, Amen, Amen
|
| Take me to church
|
| I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
|
| I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
|
| Offer me that deathless death
|
| Good God, let me give you my life
|
| If I’m a pagan of the good times
|
| My lover’s the sunlight
|
| To keep the goddess on my side
|
| She demands a sacrifice
|
| Drain the whole sea
|
| Get something shiny
|
| Take me to church
|
| I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
|
| I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
|
| Offer me that deathless death
|
| Good God, let me give you my life
|
| No masters or kings when the ritual begins
|
| There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin
|
| In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene
|
| Only then I am human
|
| Only then I am clean
|
| Good God, let me give you my life
|
| Take me to church
|
| I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
|
| I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife
|
| Offer me that deathless death
|
| Good God, let me give you my life
|
| Let me give you my life
|
| Let me give you my life |