Текст песни
My lover's got humor
She's the giggle at a funeral
Knows everybody's disapproval
I should've worshiped 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
Is when I'm alone with you
