Joan Of Arc

Joan Of Arc
There's lots of things in a human head
That I hope I never have to touch
She likes the taste of burning flesh
Cannibals eat their love
I'm a sucker for romantic stuff
She peeled the skin right off her face,
And left it lying on the bathroom floor
I put it into my suitcase
I couldn't leave it like that,
Just in case she'll want it back

Joan, Joan of Arc keeps burning up
Joan, Joan of Arc keeps burning up
It's hard to go out with a saint
Who's French and comes from France
I start to scream, I almost faint
She's got the stigmata
I want the stigmata
I give her a Marlboro cigarette
She starts to smoke, and smoke, and smoke
Sometimes even saints forget
I don't want to sound like a fascist,
But it's wrong to play with matches
Joan, Joan of Arc keeps burning up
Joan, Joan of Arc keeps burning up
Joan of Arc, Joan of Arc, Joan of Arc
You hot little catholic bitch, oh
You're a martyr from France.
I'm just a regular guy from New Jersey
But we have burning, fire and heat, whooh
You've got the stigmata
I want the stigmata
Joan, Joan of Arc keeps burning up
Joan, Joan of Arc keeps burning up