She's a nice girl, but her bad girl's better.
Too many temples where we could worship the beast.
Everyone's saved, we're in the grave. See you there for afternoon tea.
I'll make love to you in all good places, under black mountains and open spaces.
Roll us down the mountain and I'm sure the fatman would win.
Give us Direction; the best of goodwill; Put us in touch with fair winds. Sing to us softly, hum the evening's song. Tell us what the blacksmith has done for you.