Satan he wants me. Satan he tries. He flies at my doorway and claws at my eyes. Sometimes I believe him when he looks like you-dressed as a woman, shooting guns. He's there in the powder. He's there in my friends. He's there on the ladder and the hole I'm in. Wish I could defeat him, but you've rendered me weak. Now I'm your fallen angel in your victory seat. Beautiful Satan, your reign's never ending. Dressed there in satin-your porches in bunting.
Satan's a prick. He lives in the ground. Hotter than pokers' and tighter than sound. Sometimes I regret it, but I always give in. He gets the credit for the shape that I'm in. Beautiful Satan, your reign's never ending. Dressed there in satin-your porches in bunting.
If You hear the Sound:
