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ben biktim ya

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
          I was born sick, but I love it
          Command me to be well
          A-, Amen, Amen, Amen