|
The signs in the sky won't let up |
|
The clouds assume the shape |
|
Of catholic girls with Uzis |
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All of them on the make |
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All of them out to make a million |
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By the time they hit 13 |
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And it's all in the colour |
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Of the old sun setting |
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This brand new age of Blood Letting |
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And it's all in the eyes of me |
|
|
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I'm suspicious of my wife |
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I suspect she left long ago |
|
I recall my finger on the button of the ejector seat |
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But I can't recall letting her go |
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The electric Christ has canonized her |
|
She's surrounded by a chemical glow |
|
It has to be said |
|
It's today's edition of the |
|
Book of the Dead |
|
It has to be said |
|
|
|
In this worst of all possible worlds |
|
On this planet of perpetual sorrow |
|
I've found the best of all possible girls |
|
She's as pure and white and bright as tomorrow |
|
|
|
My life plays like Grand Guignol |
|
Blood and Portents everywhere |
|
They say they can't remove |
|
these signs from my eyes |
|
But I suspect that they just don't care |
|
I've got a harsh new brand of aftershave |
|
That gives you that thousand yard stare |
|
Why can't you get it |
|
Through your head |
|
Now is the Golden Age of Bloodshed |
|
It needs to be said |
|
|
|
In this worst of all possible worlds |
|
On this planet of perpetual sorrows |
|
I've found the best of all possible girls |
|
She's pure and white and bright as tomorrow |
