My lovers got humour Shes the giggle at a funeral Knows everybodys disapproval I shouldve worshiped her sooner If the heavens ever did speak Shes the last true mouthpiece Every Sundays 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 Ill be sent to Is when Im alone with you— I was born sick, But I love it Command me to be well Amen. Amen. Amen
Posted on: Thu, 11 Sep 2014 14:54:18 +0000