There's lots of things in a human head that I hope I never have to touch. She likes the taste of burning flesh, cannibals eat their love. I'm a sucker for romantic stuff.
She peeled the skin right off her face and left it lying on the bathroom floor. I put it into my suitcase, I couldn't leave it like that. Just in case she wants it back.
Joan of Arc keeps burning up.
It's hard to go out with a saint, who's french and comes from France. I start to scream I almost faint. She's got the stigmata, I want the stigmata.
I give her a Marlboro cigarette. She starts to smoke and smoke and smoke, sometimes even saints forget. I don't want to sound like a fascist, but it's wrong to play with matches.
Joan of Arc keeps burning up.
Joan of Arc, you hot little Catholic bitch oooh. You're a martyr from France, I'm just an average guy from New Jersey. But we have fire, burning, heat oooh. You've got the stigmata, I want the stigmata.
