My lover's got

humour

, she's the giggle at a

funeral

Knows everybody's disap

proval,

I should've worshipped her

sooner

If the Heavens ever

did speak,

she is 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 ab-

solutes,

She tells me 'worship in the

bedroom

The only heaven I'll be

sent to,

Is when I'm alone

with

you

I was born sick,

but I love it command me to be well

A-

men,

A-

men

A-

men,

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 death-

less 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 sacri-

fice

To drain the whole sea

get something shiny

something meaty for the

main course,

that's a fine looking

high horse

What you got in the

stable?

we've a lot of starving

faithful

That looks tasty,

that looks plenty, this is hungry work

No masters

or kings, when the

ritual be-

gins

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

A-

men,

A-

men,

A-

men