sit down and shut up, sit down and shut up,
behind every closed door found,
view out my window this strange town,
act strange by myself. I
lay down and mess up, lay down and mess up,
with a bright and deafening sound,
’cause sin’s how I love to get down,
just like anyone else.
The Good Lord may smite me,
banish me somewhere warm.
That ghost may haunt nightly, a
white sheet worn and torn.
The Good Lord may strike me,
banish me somewhere hot.
One ghost you won’t let be?
God is God – you are not.