The places we hide under
For sanctimonious pleasure
If it fits, it sits, little sisters
So don’t get cold hands on me
For our feet will burn elsewhere
Pious, but intuitive sensations
Receieved for all of us
Here in our makeshift cubby
Underground

The faces we hide from
For sacrilegious fervor
From one scene to another
We’ll be the last ones left
Here in our makeshift cubby
Under the ground