That’s no Mob Sweetie, They’re Just Happy to See You

The night is young
Your eyes are beating red
Formaldehyde seeping
From the gash on your chest
Our eyes are listless
And you're innocent
And defenseless enough
To scale our crucifix

Light the torches
We want to see your pretty face
It’s worth the sin
Of having you on my plate

The youngest “witch”,
A harlequin hero
Take her to the stake
And watch our sin burn to ash
Martyr your jester
And let her fester
A cyst In your chest
And your intestine

Light the torches
We want to see your pretty face
It’s worth the sin
Of having you on my plate
Don’t cry girl
We’re exalting your name
And your hipster crusade
Will be recognized from your grave

Raise your pitchforks
(Come, take the stage)
Take aim, move forth
(Nine inch nails raised)
Ignite the torch
(Set her ablaze)
Write her story
Give her the praise

So find your Jesus
He’s a great guy
Take his jacket
And his necktie
Dress to lead us
To our demise
Let your light shine
Let the light blind
Knead the body
Bake a cake
Eat the heart out
And take a drink
Set the porcelain doll to break
To save ourselves from living for heaven’s sake