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 [bad word] mouthpiece.
Every Sunday's getting more bleak,
fresh poison each week.
“We were born sick”, you heard them say it,
My church offers no absolution,
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 [bad word] me to be well.
Amen, amen, amen!
 [bad word] – x2:]
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 my deathless death.
Good God, let me give you my life.

[Verse 2:]
If I'm a pagan of the good times
My lover's the sunlight.
To keep the Goddess on my side,
She demands a sacrifice,
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.
 [bad word] – x2:]
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 my deathless death.
Good God, let me give you my life.

[Bridge:]
No masters or kings when the ritual begins,
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.
Amen, amen, amen!
 [bad word] – x2:]
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 my deathless death.
Good God, let me give you my life.