Take Me To Church sing and play along

My lover's got humour, she's the giggle at a fun'ral.

Knows ev'rybody's disapproval, I should've worshipped her sooner.

If the heavens ever did speak,

she's the last true mouthpiece.

Ev'ry Sunday's getting more bleak, a fresh poison each week.

"We were born sick," you heard them say it.

My church offers no absolutes.

She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom."

The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you.

I was born sick, but I love it,

command me to be well.

Aamen, amen, amen.

Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.

Offer me that deathless death and,

good God, let me give you my life.

Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.

Offer me that deathless death and,

good God, let me give you my life.

If I'm a pagan of the good times,

my lover's the sunlight.

To keep the goddess on my side,

she demands a sacrifice.

Drain the whole sea, get something shiny.

Something meaty for the main course,

that's a finelooking high horse.

What you got in the stable?

We've a lot of starving faithful.

That looks tasty, that looks plenty,

this is hungry work.

Take me to church, God, let me give you my life.

No masters or kings when the ritual begins.

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene,

only then I am human, only then I am clean.

Oh, oh, amen, amen,

amen. Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.

Offer me that deathless death and,

good God, let me give you my life.

Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies.

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.

Offer me that deathless death and,

good God, let me give you my life.

Take me to church, God, let me give you my life.