My lov er’s got hu mour, she’s the gig gle at a fu n’ral.

Knows ev ’ry bod y’s dis ap (Am)pro val, I should ’ve wor shipped her soon er.

If the heav ens ev er did speak, she’s the last true mouth piece.

Ev ’ry Sun day’s get ting (Am)more bleak, a fresh poi son each week.

“We were born sick,” you heard them say it.

My church of fers no ab so lutes.

She tells me, “Wor ship in the bed room.” The on ly heav en I’ll be (Am)sent to is when I’m a lone with you.

I was born sick, but I love it, com mand me to be well.

A

(C)a (G)men,

(Cm6)a (G)men,

(Cm6)a (G)men.

(CN.C.)Take me to (Em)church, I’ll wor ship like a dog at the shrine of your (B)lies.

I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharp en your (G)knife.

Of fer me that (Am)death less death and, good (Em)God, let me give you my (CN.C.)life.

Take me to (Em)church, I’ll wor ship like a dog at the shrine of your (B)lies, I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharp en your (G)knife.

Of fer me that (Am)death less death and, good (Em)God, let me give you my (CN.C.)life.

If I’m a pa gan of the (Am)good times, my lov er’s the (Am)sun light.

To keep the god dess on (Am)my side, she de mands a sac (Am)ri fice.

Drain the whole sea, get some thing shin y.

Some thing meat y for the (Am)main course, that’s a fine look ing (Am)high horse.

What you got in the (Am)sta ble?

We’ve a lot of starv ing (Am)faith ful.

That looks tast y, that looks plen ty, this is hun gry work.

Take me to (Em)God, let me give you my life.

No mas ters or kings

when the (B7)ri tu al be (Em)gins.

There is (C)no sweet er (G)in no cence than (B7)our gen tle (Em)sin.

In the (C)mad ness and (G)soil

of (Em)sad

earth ly scene,

on ly (C)then I am (G)hu man, on ly (B7)then I am clean.

(Cmaj7)Oh,

oh, (C)a

(G)men,

(Cm)a (G)men,

(Cm6)a (G)men.

Take me to (Em)church, I’ll wor ship like a dog at the shrine of your (B)lies.

I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharp en your (G)knife.

Of fer me that (Am)death less death and, good (Em)God, let me give you my (CN.C.)life.

Take me to (Em)church, I’ll wor ship like a dog at the shrine of your (B)lies, I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharp en your (G)knife.

Of fer me that (Am)death less death and, good (Em)God, let me give you my (CN.C.)life.