My lover's name is trouble; her teeth are made of lead
The sound of our love is like clinking ax heads
I blew air into her lungs then I kissed her and I teased her
It smelled like the last breath of Julius Caesar
She's a great judge of character: she knows my real name
And when I get into trouble, trouble always takes the blame
We pretend we're both religious -- we really act like saints
My name once was Oedipus but now it's Saint Louis
I'd have to shatter my illusions and correct all my lies
By taking my fingers and putting out both my eyes
After I'd finish my illusions I'd have to pay the price
I'd go to church on Sundays and drink the urine of Jesus Christ
Let's pretend this song was written by you as you try to figure out
The experimental meaning lying buried here --
one that a mind reader
Once told you about.