I won’t be playing music any more,
but signal to a machine instead:
to show how the soul moves within me.
I am a bit fearful, but then I think to myself
what the hell do I expect from fate,
when sweet things makes me throw up,
and salty stuff makes me sweat.
Refr:
It keeps on repeating,
Let halleluiah sound for machines! (x2)
I am not drunk,
only very dizzy.
When the devil’s in love, uh, well,
you know he doesn’t love in vain.
Now everything that counts is in a box,
with the box locked as well as your mouth,
you’d better make yourself come quietly
in the bathtub.
Refr: