Lydia Lunch

Sick Whith Desire


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Solitary and condemned
To a night that never ends
Inside the viper's den
Your sex an endless threat
I can smell you from here
I can smell your desire

The tyranny of bloodlust
Laps at your poisoned loins
Like a leper
With a tongue of fire
I can smell you from here
You're made weak with desire

Expert of perversions
And of criminal urges
Your dayreams remain stained
With the blood of saints
I can smell you from here
You're made sick with desire
I can smell you from here
Make me sick with desire