Sunday's Best

Always said your prayers,

Like a good boy should, like a good boy should,

Fingers pressed against the cold glass window watching stars so

free, stars so free…

You would run but where,

Even if you could, even if you could,

You could try but you’d never run fast enough to not be seen, not

be seen…

Every Sunday morning

You would go to your church

in your Sunday clothes,

Daddy leads a choir of angels, if they’d only know

But they’ll never know, never know…

The name of god is never taken in vain

But the hand of god is known to cause a multitude of pain,

When he speaks through your daddy

And he isn’t very pleased

So shut your foul ungrateful mouth and get down on your knees…

And have you seen my wounded Jesus

Bloodied son of a preacher’s mean touch

Nothing like the cold shoulder of a pious man to

Show you what true faith in god’s love can’t do

Mama looks away

You know she got a dose of that religion yesterday

Her sacrifices made

Will someday set you free, set you free…

She will not betray

Her promises in front of god naively prayed,

After years of living without questioning

She still believes, she still believes, she still believes…

And have you seen my wounded Jesus

Bloodied son of a preacher’s mean touch

Nothing like the cold shoulder of a pious man to

Show you what true faith in god’s love can’t do

And I can blame his painful indecision

On the cruel unyielding arm of his religion

Don’t know whether to stay a part of worldly things

Or close his eyes and take a breath and spread his wings

And fly away, fly away, fly away, fly away, flay away….

Always said your prayers,

Like a good boy should, like a good boy should,

Fingers pressed against the cold glass window watching stars so

free…