In a cast iron cage you couldn't help but stare like a creature. With the laws of a brothel and the fireproof bones of a preacher. And your lingo coined from the sacrament of a casino. On a government loan with a guillotine in your libido. Who's gonna answer. Profanity prayers. Who's gonna answer. These profanity prayers. Well you know how it looks when you pull all your books from the table. And you stare into space trying to discern what to say now. And you wait at the light and watch for a sign that you're breathing. Cos you can't just live on air and float to the ceiling. Who's gonna answer. Profanity prayers. Who's gonna answer. Profanity prayers. Who's gonna answer. Profanity prayers. Who's gonna answer. Profanity prayers