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I'm about as holy as a bullet riddled body is |
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I'm crooked, I'm bent, been left for dead and I'm malcontent. |
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With the fact that I'm feeling fine, |
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Aside from my blackened lungs and misshapen spine. |
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I gave myself to the night and if you come to me in search of faith. |
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You will find me rotting in the bowels of a saint. |
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We've polluted our own, |
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We reap what we sow, |
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And nothing can save our souls. |
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Do we want it? No. |
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Do we need it? No. |
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Do we believe it? |
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Are we compelled to care for love, |
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To find a love we know nothing of? |
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We gave ourselves to the night. x2 |
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I believe in sin cause sin believes in me, |
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It carries my head on a stick and worships it. |
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How can I forgive when I'm up to my neck in this? |
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You better repent, repent, |
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You've carved yourself a witch. x2 |
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Oh! |
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Come on, come give yourselves to the night, |
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Come on, give yourselves to the night. |
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Do we want it? No. |
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Do we need it? No. |
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Do we believe it? |
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Are we compelled to care for love, |
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To find a love we know nothing of? |
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We gave ourselves to the night. |
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You will find me rotting in the bowels of a saint. |
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You will find me rotting, oh, in the bowels of a saint. |
