My lover's got humor,
she's the giggle at a funeral.
Knows everybody's disapproval,
i should've worshipped her sooner.
if the heavens ever did speak,
she's 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.
