Oh, hair of dread, the time is here
Thirty-three, the sheep draw near
With eyes so keen, they cannot hear all the lies that buy their ears
Oh, horse pants, tobacco chest
Oh, sex ghost — oh, nape of neck
The tears are crashing on her breast
The burning bed is out again
If it's sad, you know it's true
God is glad on bluer moons
When your room is all you do, it comes to you
Oh, my rank ink instrument
Row my boat towards abstinence
With thoughts as long as cigarettes
Snowed in lips and cross protect
Oh, that birdlike appetite
Do passive fasts make us contrite?
On silken highways of the night
The spiders crawl my candlelight
Where the sun shines in space
God is dumb; God is great
But does he love us all the same?
Are we okay?
Thirty-three, the sheep draw near
With eyes so keen, they cannot hear all the lies that buy their ears
Oh, horse pants, tobacco chest
Oh, sex ghost — oh, nape of neck
The tears are crashing on her breast
The burning bed is out again
If it's sad, you know it's true
God is glad on bluer moons
When your room is all you do, it comes to you
Oh, my rank ink instrument
Row my boat towards abstinence
With thoughts as long as cigarettes
Snowed in lips and cross protect
Oh, that birdlike appetite
Do passive fasts make us contrite?
On silken highways of the night
The spiders crawl my candlelight
Where the sun shines in space
God is dumb; God is great
But does he love us all the same?
Are we okay?
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