Scott Bradlee & Postmodern Jukebox - Take Me To Church

My lover's got humour

He's the giggle at a funeral

Knows everybody's disapproval

I should've worshipped him sooner


If the heavens ever did speak

He's the last true mouthpiece

Every Sunday's getting more bleak

A fresh poison each week


'We were born sick, ' you heard them say it


My Church offers no absolutes

He tells me, 'Worship in the bedroom.'

The only heaven I'll be sent to

Is when I'm alone with you—


I was born sick,

But I love it

Command me to be well

Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen.


Take me to church

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

Offer me that deathless death

Good God, let me give you my life


If I'm a pagan of the good times

My lover's the sunlight

To keep the God on my side

He demands a sacrifice


Drain the whole sea

Get something shiny

Something meaty for the main course

That's a fine looking high horse

What you got in the stable?

We've a lot of starving faithful


That looks tasty

That looks plenty

This is hungry work


Take me to church

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

Offer me my deathless death

Good God, let me give you my life


No Masters or Kings

When the Ritual begins

There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin


In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

Only then I am Human

Only then I am Clean

Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen.


Take me to church

I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies

I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

Offer me that deathless death

Good God, let me give you my life