There's lots of things in a human head
|
that I hope I never have to touch.
|
She likes the taste of burning flesh,
|
cannibals eat their love.
|
I'm a sucker for romantic stuff.
|
|
She peeled the skin right off her face
|
and left it lying on the bathroom floor.
|
I put it into my suitcase,
|
I couldn't leave it like that.
|
Just in case she wants it back.
|
|
Joan of Arc keeps burning up.
|
|
It's hard to go out with a saint,
|
who's french and comes from France.
|
I start to scream I almost faint.
|
She's got the stigmata,
|
I want the stigmata.
|
|
I give her a Marlboro cigarette.
|
She starts to smoke and smoke and smoke,
|
sometimes even saints forget.
|
I don't want to sound like a fascist,
|
but it's wrong to play with matches.
|
|
Joan of Arc keeps burning up.
|
|
Joan of Arc,
|
you hot little Catholic bitch oooh.
|
You're a martyr from France,
|
I'm just an average guy from New Jersey.
|
But we have fire, burning, heat oooh.
|
You've got the stigmata,
|
I want the stigmata.
|
|
Joan of Arc keeps burning up.
|
|
-----------------
|
Joan of Arc
|
| Alice Donut |
