I don't remember who wrote
Was it St. Peter or St. Paul?
That into every life
A little sh**'s gonna fall
I've been unfair and you've been untrue
What the hell?
What are we gonna do?
We wrote that book
That angry almanac
Where the words you should never say
Meet the things you can never take back
Sad sleight of hand
Cruel callous cracks
Hollow hollers and countless counterattacks
I took a walk past your home
That old place on Virtue Street
Didn't take me too long
It's just eight houses, a lane and some trees
Why's that street so small?
It ain't no mystery
It seems like living on virtue is the hardest place to be
I woke up on Sunday mornin'
With a freight train on my chest
Evangelically alone
Just me and that old Infinite Jest
Words can feel like stones
Words can be a noose
Godspeed D.F.W.
Words can take you home
Words can make you choose
Godspeed D.F.W.