No more visions
in hotel rooms I just cannot take any more
There's enough weirdos
already in this world
Without you knocking at my door
Without you knocking at my door
And I'm sick to the teeth
I'm sick to death of fanatical sex
Of fanatical sex
Of fanatical sex
And there's no
God, no saviour
No miracle by pure plan
Just another doorstep salesman
Causing my chips to
Burn in the pan, you see
Burn in the pan, you see
Burn in the pan
And that's why I don't want to talk to you
You say there's only one
God
Almighty
And I ought to come in from the cold
But you're disciples of hypocrisy
Because there's more than one
prophet involved
There's more than one prophet involved
I have come to
the conclusion
If you refuse blood
transfusions
In the name of
God, in the name of
God,
In the name of
God, in the name of
God,
Condemn to death that
person in that bed.
And there's no
God, no saviour,
no miracle, five year plan
Just another doorstep salesman with
the whole wide world in his hands
He's got the whole world in his hands
He's got the whole world in his hands
And that's why I don't wanna
talk to you
And my mother's needing
a hip replacement
I bet you'll have to wait
a couple of years
While money still pours
into religious wars
The church is often held above the
Channel 4
I am the only one that got it through
the floor of your hallway
Death knocks at your door
You won't go to bloody
church anymore
And that's why I don't want
to talk to you
Knock, knock, who's there?
FAN AT ICAL
SEX
FANAT ICAL
SEX