In flames our prophet witches - be polite
A room full of glasses,
He says, "Your notches liberation doll"
And he chains me with that serpent to that Ethiopian wall
Anima rising, Queen of Queens
Wash my guilt of Eden, wash and balance me
Anima rising, uprising in me tonight
She's a vengeful little goddess with an ancient crown to fight
Truth goes up in vapors - the steeples lean,
Winds of change, patriarchs, snug in your Bible belt dreams
God goes up the chimney,
Like childhood Santa Claus,
The good slaves loved the Good Book,
A rebel loves a cause
I'm leaving on the 1:15, you're darn right
Since I was seventeen I've had no one over me,
He says, "Anima rising - so what?
Petrified wood process tall timber down to rock."
Don't interrupt the sorrow, darn right
He says, "WE walked on the moon. YOU be polite!"
Don't let up the sorrow, death and birth and death and birth and death and birth,
He says, "Bring that bottle kindly and I'll pad your purse,
I got a head full of quand'ry and a mighty, mighty, mighty thirst."
Seventeen glasses Rhine wine
Milk of the Madonna, clandestine
He don't let up the sorrow
He lies and he cheats
It takes a heart like Mary's these days when your man gets weak