| God is a tender pervert and the angels are voyeurs
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| Watching us forever, their vision never blurs
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| They make us then forget us for a hundred million years
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| And then by chance they glance at us and something in them stirs
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| They find us so provocative, so weak, so full of pride
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| Our cleverness, our nakedness, fills them with delight
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| The way we hold our coffee cups, the way we pick our words
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| God is a tender pervert and his angels
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| His angels are voyeurs
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| And when the tender pervert is too busy to admire us
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| He sends his angels down to pass amongst us and desire us
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| He gives them little notebooks where they note each quirk and boast
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| Our foolish pride and pompousness turn him on the most
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| When we’re throwing temper tantrums
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| When we’re giving up the ghost
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| The pervert keeps his distance
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| But his angels, his angels move in close
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| It intoxicates the Spaceman, watching how we thrill ourselves
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| Not by sex but by devising new ways to kill ourselves
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| He sees the way we tamper with the things we most depend on
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| The danger stands his hair on end and gives him a hard-on
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| He calls his angels down to watch that slut the world get hers
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| God is a tender pervert and his angels
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| His angels are voyeurs
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| The pervert and his angels hide amongst the stars and watch
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| And as we blow ourselves to bits the angels pump their cocks
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| Their semen flows across the sky and forms new milky wheys
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| And somewhere in some galaxy in less than seven days
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| They make a planet more curvaceous and much sexier than ours
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| Full of bigger sinners
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| More worthy of voyeurs |