You set the table in your spirit entertain the devil for a while And then you laugh at all his jokes insisting it's alright- it's okay to smile but you are Dancing with the demons and walking on the wall that borders hell thinking "Right now, I'm not testing God," but always wondering how you'd feel if you just fell? I'd like to say that it was simple like a dog you don't want pregnant so you fix her But it's a matter of unconscious sin I don't know if you know it, but you're been brewin' up a strychnine elixer because you're Are you walking darkly to avoid the razor light? Did you lose the taste of flesh and blood when you threw up late last night? Is your soul in some fine limbo between bitterness and lust? Can you talk about the cross these days without wincing in disgust?