In the dark there's a hole where the rabbits go no more.
There's a path to a room where a black cradle waits for you.
And i cut your hair last night, i found the birthmark that you hide
that spells out the number of the beast.
This is an omen, i am sure. For darkness there can't be no cure.
Now i can put my finger on the patch of sky
that seems to be hanging over our heads,
that sends hailstorms down on our bed
and i look up and wait for lightning to strike.
So i perform exorcisms
with alcohol and violent kisses.
But the exchange of dispair,
my fingers tangled up in your hair
won't keep the devil at bay.
This is an invasion of body snatchers.
They replaced me with a box of matches.
Now i run red-headed through life, prepared to burn down.
We'll meet on our tricycles down the hall
to race down the corridors of our downfall.
No glowing christian crosses could make this a movie our
grandmothers would watch.
So i perform exorcisms
with alcohol and violent kisses.
But the exchange of dispair,
my fingers tangled up in your hair
won't keep the devil at bay.