You gouge the right eye of your infants
And seat them high on a cloud
To gaze at one hand of your savior
Is their ignorance what you're so proud of?
You condemn the rind of an apple
As obstructing your conscience so white
You curse every rib of that first wicked soul
But pity yourself for your providential plight

I want fruit in my garden
A tart behind my wife
I want hell below heaven
I want death with my life
Isn't the option beautiful?

You admire your children's sheltered virtue
But they haven't yet raced through the dust and the heat
Don't mistake innocence for purity
I say put them on trial, cast them out on the street
Let's watch their superior reason
Compete with new appetite
I'll gamble my chips that they'll side with the devil
This is a fascinating sight

I want fruit in my garden
A tart behind my wife
I want hell below heaven
I want death with my life
Isn't the option beautiful?

Carnal tongues flashing in a whirlwind of passion
A perpetual complacency
Coveting chattel in spite of the means
A commune in landscape so green
Thick, juicy venison, straight to the ventricles
A mind and a body so clean
Jealousy driving to injure or kill
A temper eternally serene

I want fruit in my garden
A tart behind my wife
I want hell below heaven
I want death with my life
Isn't the option beautiful?


Lyrics submitted by username72

Milt the Stilt song meanings
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