I find it hard to trust people
So enter if you dare into my cursed steeple
This dastardly church hold pews on fire
Memorises of enemies and lost hope or desire
Our priest isn’t here he went out for a drink
So sit in my confessional and tell me what you think
For there is not a sin I have not heard
No book whose pages I haven’t turned
This chapel is my lover’s heart
These broken windows my precious art
And still I come to praise
Pray I might find some hell to raise