When Jesus descended for the second time He stopped first in Tucson, Arizona Just to pay you a visit, to get your opinions On the latest Taylor Swift re-release The two of you sat on your vile wicker furniture You curled your hair, he painted his toenails And then he misquoted the Gospel of Mark, chapter three Or something like that, I dunno, you're Catholic, you tell me He said Never prophets, only voices Never answers, only choices He asked for directions to the nearest Little Caesars And you pointed him to Irvington Plaza He thanked you and then left, but not before complaining That that's an awful long way to walk when all you've got are sandals I called you at 2:37am When the fever broke on my depression And you picked up, excited To tell all about me about this encounter You were speaking in tongues, or maybe in Spanish But mostly, yeah mostly you came through clearly, You said Never prophets, only voices Never answers, only choices Yeah, you said Never prophets, only voices Never answers, only choices Yeah, yeah, yeah

I'm walking on down by the palace Where walls are made of green and gold I'm carrying a book with a beat-up look And both of us are dusty and old Yesterday it was snowing Now it's 'bout a hundred and one And these 20th-century Russian poets They just won't leave me alone Late last morning I got out of bed About a half-past a quarter to six When a 20th-century Russian poet Took my alarm clock, to see how it ticks I said Hey man, whatcha doing Without my alarm clock, I'll die His face got wild; he waved and he smiled, Then out of my window he fly'd I went to my favorite professor To ask her what could be done I told her 'bout all of my troubles She said Doesn't that seem fun! And then when she turned back to face me I clutched at my face and I gasped She was a 20th-century Russian poet Wearing a professor's mask I got myself home in a hurry My girlfriend was there at the door Saying Honey, oh God, you look worried I cried I can't take any more! She took me out to eat with her parents; But they looked like people I didn't know Because her father was a Russian poet But her mom was Edgar Allan Poe Crossing the street the next morning I looked up, and what did I see But a 20th-century Russian poet Coming 60 miles an hour at me I screamed as they whooped and they hollered As they ran the most recent red light Since then, I've been dead, and as I've probably said Nothing else really seems right I awoke at the Gold Gates of Heaven St. Peter was there, looking cross But I cheered and I waved, cuz I knew I was saved And I said How ya doing there, boss He opened the Gates with a button And wouldn't you guess my bad luck But Heaven is full of 20th-century Russian poets, oh So now, in the cold crystal evenings I sit with my book and I write And nothing, it seems, is the way that I dreamed Though I have all my daydreams at night So many things are now different I'm not who I used to be Now I'm a 20th-century Russian poet And it sure is good to be free

Lying in the cool earth in the desert autumn weather Ankles raw and bleeding from being shackled together Waited till the guards had all cleared out from the garden Maybe 15 minutes till someone notified the warden Lie in wait, face the sky, But tonight the destroying angel will not pass us by I know a place where we’d be safe in Ogden But I don’t think we’ll make it down to Ogden Davis broke his chain and ran for Oregon Every night we pray he’s made it safe to Oregon Hide down in the gorge until we’re starving Tracing with our fingers ancient prehistoric carvings Find a garden when we clamber out When the bloodhounds sniff us out We are eating stolen cabbages like apples I know a place where we’d be safe in Ogden But none of us will make it down to Ogden

There's a pine-scented candle on my kitchen table And a TV dinner on a porcelain plate And the radio is warbling some indie song About two miserable misanthropic soulmates I'm on my couch Saturday night Heart rate slowing Fists clenched tight The bass player takes a solo Oh, oh, oh, oh I hear Phoebe Bridgers I hear Phoebe Bridgers You can keep all your songs about the birds and bees I'll take this soft synthesizer at the midnight hour On this Janu-all-alone-uary evening breeze From the woman with the voice like a pale white flower Like a ghost By any other name The months have changed But the song's the same Cool air comes through the window Oh, oh, oh, oh I hear Phoebe Bridgers I hear Phoebe Bridgers I hear Phoebe Bridgers I hear Phoebe Bridgers

Grooves in the blue sky Like a record with no need for a needle Lines in the deep grass Homemade crop circles And I can see in the trees The literary sense of personalities In this picture of you running through a field in southern Germany Your cheeks flushed With the memory of incense, juniper and lamplight Houses in the distance Roofs all red like fresh-set bricks And you, caught mid-skip Makes me want to take a trip Into this picture of you running through a field in southern Germany

It was just another Sunday Down in southern Tennessee With my mother, brother, father My great-uncle Jeff, and me It was gettin awful quiet On the way back home from church The sermon had been boring And we all were in a lurch Yes, the afternoon was slow On the Lord’s grand fine old day. We were waiting in the living room When I heard my father say Exorcise, exorcise Everybody exorcise Thirty minutes every day Will fill the devil with dismay So everybody exorcise Well we jumped right off the couch And we got straightaway to work On my cousin Jeremiah Who’s demonstrably a jerk We thought he’s just an asshole But new evidence suggests That he’s gripped now by a demon And is thoroughly possessed So we tied him to a rocking chair And we got our bibles out And as Jeremiah screamed in fright We all began to jump and shout Exorcise, exorcise Everybody exorcise Thirty minutes every day, Will fill the devil with dismay So everybody exorcise The procedure’s really quite a cinch If you know what to do First you take the subject And you beat them with a shoe And you shout All devils, now begone And bring the boiling water If they protest, then you suggest That hell is always hotter Now Jeremiah’s holding still He hasn’t moved a bit If ever there was a devil in him I’m pleased to say he’s rid of it Thanks to Exorcise, exorcise Everybody exorcise Thirty minutes every day, Will fill the devil with dismay So everybody exorcise Our exorcism time’s not up We got fifteen minutes left So we slowly turn around and grin At poor great-uncle Jeff Exorcise, exorcise Everybody exorcise Thirty minutes every day Will fill the devil with dismay So everybody exorcise ONE MORE TIME NOW Exorcise, exorcise Everybody exorcise Thirty minutes every day Will fill the devil with dismay So everybody exorcise

I would cancel plans for you You wouldn’t cancel them for me I would cross the whole world for you You wouldn’t even cross the Caspian Sea I would go where no one else would go Like the back of an airport restroom South of Colorado Springs Where I found you lying in your vomit Crying, multiplying your failures by hand All alone, all on your own I would get in oodles of trouble for you I would play the board game Trouble with you Believe every word that I write At 3:30 at night I hope that you see America right And every hackneyed expression that I would use for you Was deployed in the hopes that You would use those same expressions For me, too

We're all out of brown sugar We're all out of brown sugar We're all out of brown sugar We're all out of brown sugar If you're gonna make a list Before you go We're all out of brown sugar now I thought you should know I would like some lemonade I would like some lemonade I would like some lemonade If you're gonna make a list Before you go I would like some lemonade I thought you should know I live I live I live for little luxuries like these They've got guacamole salsa now They've got guacamole salsa now They've got guacamole salsa now If you're gonna make a list Before you go They've got guacamole salsa now I thought you should know

She was smiling one of those strange smiles That sends you back to the drawing board And that's when I knew nothing I could do Would be of any real importance The wet grass The starlight Thanks for asking, but no, I'm not alright Her love is more confusing than the Georgia election results I still have those candies she kept in a bell jar Strawberry-flavored, that melt in your mouth I never liked them, but I didn't have to I knew that they made her happy The car door The dirt road I just need a minute to unload Your love is more frustrating than the Georgia election results

When the last bus speeds past you at the station Ignoring your outstretched hand Your phone is almost dead so you start walking To get the lay of the land You spend the night in Omaha last-second Check into a Motel 6 Public transit’s nice but still doesn’t compare To a repeated phrase and three ruby heel clicks All along the avenue The stoplights all start blinking blue As you sift through the autumn leaves Like a dog with its head out the window We are breathing free and easy, cold and light We’re not sure where we’re going But now we’re in Omaha So that is where we’re going to spend the night You find a record store perusing google maps Consider stopping by the next day You never can afford to buy new vinyl You stop by anyway See old familiar albums, all remastered All wrapped up in plastic Strike up a conversation with the man behind the counter He's got a bright blue hair elastic He recommends a place for lunch You have a hunch you can’t afford it You talk until you get bored, then you leave Like the ice that crystalizes on the windows We are sitting here, refracting stolen light We’re not sure what is coming But we’re in Omaha, Yo, so that is where we’re going to spend the night

There's a pine-scented candle on my kitchen table And a TV dinner on a porcelain plate And the radio is warbling two indie songs About seperate misanthropic soulmates I'm on my couch Saturday night Heart rate slowing Fists clenched tight The bass player takes a solo Oh, oh, oh, oh I hear Phoebe Bridgers I hear Phoebe Bridgers You can keep all your songs about the birds and bees I'll take this soft synthesizer at the midnight hour On this Janu-all-alone-uary evening breeze From the woman with the voice like a pale white flower Like a ghost By any other name The months have changed But the song's the same Cool air comes through the window Oh, oh, oh, oh I hear Phoebe Bridgers I hear Phoebe Bridgers I hear Phoebe Bridgers I hear Phoebe Bridgers

I’ve heard all about the shot now That the FDA has got now To reduce mortality in all us here And the news was positive But that’s not all I have to give ya That can bring you some comfort and good cheer Because down in my basement In a secret safe encasement There’s material to put your mind at ease And in case you think I’m joking You can come see what I’m smoking So long as you cover up your sneeze They say Moderna is effective As a functional protective That it does the job, and fills your every need But gardening is also good For you and your whole neighborhood If you know how to grow a certain kind of weed To prevent all undue sadness I prescribe you Reefer Madness Unethical? Perhaps, but the product sells And in addition to the Pfizer I’ve got so much hand sanitizer Which tastes almost as good as it smells Now the FDA may say That taking drugs is not okay The hypocrites, they all sound the same Telling off good folks like me and you Just for doing what we do When the word ‘Drug’ is in their goddamn name My friends up in Wisconsin Just got the Johnson & Johnson And the side effects were relatively mild But as for me I took some get-well-SD And those side effects were positively wild You ever believe that cow whose leather made your shoe is talking to you from beyond the grave, son The vaccine has made progression While I have faced regression Into some old, troublesome habits of mine And unless I’m much mistaken That’s not the only shot I’ll be takin To survive the most unprecedented time

Called in sick Downed a solid quart of DayQuil Fell asleep Dreamed about the revolution Nobody came to check on me But that’s okay I didn’t want it anyway Quit next day Packed up in my Ford Fiesta Drove away To the Manitoba border Check my passport, Payed the toll Hightailed it into the cold I dreamed I Was Bill Nye in a fever dream of Consciousness And since that day I have been a Little stressed But there’s no reason to be worried about me Clap your hands If you or someone that you know has Broke down bad And put the pieces back together You are seen, you are known You are tired when you get back home Go and cross the border Go and place your order Go and cross your private border Go and place your order Clap your hands If you or someone that you know has Broke down bad And put the pieces back together You are seen, you are known You are tired when you get back home

With your knowledge of yesterday’s crossword And your pills shaped like diamonds, flawless You are reading me Like I’m subtitled TV You are picking up the new Carl Sandburg mess With your intimate illustrations for sale Your interview with Spin Magazine You are telling lies Like you’re swatting flies And you tell me “Well, I don’t know what that means” You plug into the mirror With a cable stolen from The Vatican Somnambulist And his ancient hollow drum You see the powder on the floor Ask him to give you some He gives you some, you ask for more But the household limit is one With your preference for rice over easy Your fifty-sided dice and silver cane You are holding court With the bitter sort Who need a nametag to remember your name With your immersive flower department And your ownership over my happiness Your divining rod Where the saints have trod You are picking up the new Carl Sandburg mess