| There’s a cult, there’s a cult inside of me
|
| Find the salt, sprinkle it, and rattle me
|
| Sleep is a welcome gadget in our head blind hood
|
| The crawling animals will seek all things warm, all things moist
|
| And I will relentlessly shame myself in rest and wake in front of
|
| My truly bored beloved here I lie in wait, hush little heart
|
| Still my sweating lips move my starving hips
|
| There’s a cult, there’s a cult inside of me
|
| Find the salt, sprinkle it, and rattle me
|
| Into a bright bound sea round in fury
|
| Our bodies will return
|
| The creeper’s blood is seeping from this undead wood and and let it pour
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| Punish my forehead that in evenings dripped down over my jaws
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| Give them writhe and splat their heavy feathers
|
| Lift my drooping head
|
| There’s a cult, there’s a cult inside of me
|
| Find the salt, sprinkle it, and rattle me
|
| Into a bright bound sea round in fury
|
| Our bodies will return
|
| There’s a cult, there’s a cult inside of me
|
| Find the salt, sprinkle it, and rattle me |