Eleventh Century Folklore Lyrics

Arched back and a couple of slit wrists
How often can you tell me that I can't love you
Just maybe I can
Just maybe I can

Somehow I'll break those arms
And someday I'll break those arms
Watching Jesus Christ
Emerge in the form of a firearm

I sit back and relax
I sit back and relax
My wife of forty years
I raped her He began that day like any other
Holding hands with savory little beauties
Let them know that you love them
And tell them all you want is to be cared for

That's all you want
Is to be cared for
That's all you want
Is to be cared for
Is to be cared for

Her eyes were calm
And her hands were cold

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