Dry the River Follow

It started with the moon
that turned an inexpensive room into St. Peters.
There’s a parabolic story, but it’s boring
and it ends how you’d expect.

Forever dressing down
I’m like a stranger
hanging round outside the kingdom hall.
I’d ‘ve carried your wedding shawl,
you could’ve said I was a school friend.

And you drag your holy horse cart in the sky
when I wake up
they say it’s just the sun
but I know that face.

Excavating down you’d find the drowning and the drowned
and then there’s us, babe.
You could walk to our memorial, but it’s pourring
and it ends how you’d expect.

I dig your dresses out
and hang ‘em round about the house
and turn the lights down low.
Now you’re everywhere I go
looking faintly disappointed.

And you drag your holy horse cart in the sky
when I wake up
they say it’s just the sun
but I know that face.

But the devil’s tricks
just seem to sit so light on you.
They’d never get the marionette
this tight on you.

In the parliamentary houses
there’ll be talk of what this is
with inexpert witnesses and evidence against us.
But I’ll take my pound of substance
from those insubstantial men.
Whatever their arguments,
I’ll prove your innocence.

Drag your holy horse cart in the sky
when I wake up, oh yeah.

Testify allegiance with more
puncture wounds than Jesus, oh yeah.

Every statue’s weeping honey
and it makes my sight go funny
‘cause I’m over sympathetic
and I can’t control myself.

Leave that painful memory
in the garden of Gethsemane, oh yeah, oh yeah.