| I’m about as holy as a bullet riddled body is |
| I’m crooked, I’m bent, been left for dead |
| And I’m malcontent |
| With the fact that I’m feeling fine |
| Aside from my blackened lungs and misshapen spine |
| I gave myself to the night |
| And if you come to me in search of faith |
| You will find me rotting in the bowels of a saint |
| We’ve polluted our own |
| We reap what we sow |
| And nothing can save our souls |
| Do we want it? no |
| Do we need it? no |
| Do we believe it? |
| Are we compelled to care for love |
| To find a love we know nothing of? |
| We gave ourselves to the night |
| We gave ourselves to the night |
| I believe in sin cause sin believes in me |
| It carries my head on a stick and worships it |
| How can I forgive when I’m up to my neck in this? |
| You better repent |
| You’ve carved yourself a witch |
| You’ve carved yourself a witch |
| Come on, come give yourselves to the night |
| Come on, give yourselves to the night |
| Do we want it? no |
| Do we need it? no |
| Do we believe it? |
| Are we compelled to care for love |
| To find a love we know nothing of? |
| We gave ourselves to the night |
| You will find me rotting in the bowels of a saint |
| You will find me rotting in the bowels of a saint |