I chose all the right songs
Played all the right chords
Till 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