Take Me to Church

My lover's got humour, she's the giggle at a funeral

Knows everybody's disapproval

They should've worshipped 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"