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Левая колонка
Последний визит: 21 сен 2025
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My lover's got humour, She's the giggle at a funeral Knows everybody's disapproval I should've worshipped her sooner If the Heavens ever did speak She is the last true mouth piece 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 Is when I'm alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well 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 so you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life If I'm a pagan
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