|
My idle hands |
|
There's nothing I can do |
|
But be the Devil's plaything, baby |
|
And know that I've been used |
|
Her lips are cold |
|
They suffer me |
|
They drag me under, baby |
|
Into your suffering |
|
(hey) |
|
Let your hands |
|
Do what they will do |
|
Stand inside |
|
Make your Maker's move |
|
And your eyes don't look the same |
|
They seem enervated, in denial |
|
Cast like stones |
|
Like you been rode for miles, rode for miles |
|
My eyes have seen |
|
They have been shown |
|
This is an occupation |
|
To stand alone |
|
I suffer you |
|
You suffer me |
|
We are the Devil's plaything |
|
Into this reckoning |
|
Let your hands |
|
Do what they will do |
|
Stand inside |
|
Make your Maker's move |
|
And your eyes don't look the same |
|
They seem enervated, in denial |
|
Cast like stones |
|
Like you been rode for miles, rode for miles |
