Robert Smith

Those fingers in my hair
That sly
Come hither stare
That strips my conscience bare
It's witchcraft
And I've got no defense for it
The heat is too intense for it
What good would commonsense for it do

'Cause it's witchcraft
Wicked witchcraft
And although I know
it'a strictly taboo

When you arouse the need in me

My heart says yes
Indeed in me

Proceed with what you're lead in 'me to
It's such an ancient pitch

But one I wouldn't switch
'Cause there's no nicer witch than you