Sunday Morning

I chose all the right songs Played all the right chords 'Til the kids who still weren't singing Praised the Lord And the pastor yelled 'Bout faith and hell And I soundtracked his words for effect While everyone cried, and cried, and cried Everyone cried, and cried, and cried And then we played kickball Well is God just a feeling You can use at your will? Beat your heart inside the loving Pull the trigger when you kill You promised of a new life It read closer to a warning So I don't blame anyone for passing What gets sold on Sunday morning On Sunday morning Adrian sighed aloud And she closed the door Poured a high ball of Jamison Opened her eyes some more Asked, did the Holy Spirit move? I used to do those drugs too But you can only come down that hard so often I insisted we aren't all that way And I know He listens when I pray Then we fought about Friedrich Nietzsche Well is God just a feeling That I use at my will? Like Elijah and his ravens Gideon in the hills That promise of a new life It read closer to a warning So I don't blame anyone for passing What gets sold on Sunday morning On Sunday morning Well she woke at dawn Put a thin dress on And we walked to Saint Joseph's Cathedral She made a cross with her wrists Said, you know what I miss? Being lost, and then being found Then we danced singing Gold Dust Woman Making promises I knew I shouldn't She said, stop trying to rescue me 'Cause I need more than a good feeling That's what you're offering On Sunday morning On Sunday morning Sunday morning