You smell like a cheap hotel yet you look like the architecture in a church
The cigarette scent on your shirt reminds me of how much I'm gunna hurt but let's face it Im in it to be burnt
And if I'm faced at the pulpit for confession I'll remember our intoxicating sessions and pray to your sad eyes hoping they'll free me like a bird
And once I'm gone you won't come with me because baby
   you're the type of Angel that lurks