There's a devil on my shoulder and an angel on my mind. God, I want to hold her, feel her heavenly design. There's a worm inside a bottle, and a fisherman at sea. The worm has turned to tell me that he's got a hook for me. There's a devil on my shoulder and an angel at my side. Can I undress your vessel, view your c**tural divide? There's a ship inside a bottle, and a serpent in the sea. You slip your slip just like a model and you fake a smile for me. You slip your slip just like a model and you fake a smile for me. I am washed upon your shallows with my flicking devil's tongue. Singing songs about the gallows where all devils are well hung. And in the deep red tide that heaves and swells and pulls me all asunder, I think I hear Pavlov's hypnotic knells: They nominate my hunger. There's a devil on my shoulder and an angel going blind. I'm in her milky, sultry cosmos, but her body's undefined. There's a devil on my shoulder, and I'm running out of patience: Can I use my hands to mold her to my specifications? Can I use my hands to mold her to my specifications? There's an angel in my headlights and a devil at the wheel. And now I've merged my birth/death destinies into a singular appeal: If I could worship at your chalice, I'd resuscitate my soul. And then she leads me to her palace saying, "Hell ain't half full." And then she leads me to her palace saying, "Hell ain't half full." There's a birthmark on my shoulder, and a red coal in my brain.