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We Are All Sick

The Clay People

Candles burning
Incense lit
I put you on a shrine
An altar
You made this little hell i love
You wore that cross so well
I want you
I will have you
Just to possess
We are all sick . . .
Things done at night
My skin cold as ice
Tampering with our spirits
They're tampering with our minds
We realize we realize
That we know our kind
A little love rhyme . . .
A little love crime
Die for me
I would die for you
My pretty little thing
All dressed in your black
You know what drives me
We are all crazy
Smoke swirls
The many images of your pleasures
I'm grinning at the breaking
Of your spirit
My body's numb

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