Come all you brutes who yell at your mothers
Come all you jungle-haired frauds who play the guitar
World-travelers, bible-unravelers
Everyone wants to be somewhere that’s not where they are.
Come on Don Juans who make eyes at ladies
Come all you ladies who arrow their eyes from afar
Homewreckers and neighbor’s-wife-checkers.
Everyone wants to be somewhere that’s not where they are.
Why do the streets make us lonely and skinny?
Is it the water? Where is our father?
Churches are dying and airplanes are flying.
Steeples will point us, and clouds will anoint us.
When airplanes are full, the churches are empty
When airplanes are empty, the churches are full.
Come all you Siva-haired ancient-land-lubbers
Technology haters who drink from spaghetti sauce jars
You’ve fallen in love with your others.
Everyone wants to be somewhere that’s not where they are.
I don’t know why, I don’t know why, I don’t know why…
Come all you New World Order crusaders
Smuggling freedom to Baghdad in grey-armored cars
Napoleon/Condeleeza/Vader
Everyone wants to be somewhere that’s not where they are.
Sunday will find us in line at the airport,
hiding our imports, life is so very short.
Airports are nowhere, nowhere, nowhere.
Control towers point us, and clouds will anoint us.
When airplanes are full, the churches are empty
When airplanes are empty, the churches are full.
I’ve got a church up in my 757
You can see angels’ sweet footprints on cumulus clouds
The streets below thinner than cobwebs
Your father is up here somewhere, and I know he’d be proud, proud,
proud.
I know he'd be proud.
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