WASHINGTON, D?.?C?.? ?- ?St. Bernie

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Lyrics

WASHINGTON, D?.?C?.? ?- ?St. Bernie

In a Hollywood ending, there must first be bullets. 
Romance in your gun. 
Romance in your trigger finger. 
Romance in your thumb, 
with which so much can be done. 
Dum-dum-dee-dum. 
The choir opens up 
with all those pipes 
gasping, cranking it, 
“Airborne!" 

WASHINGTON, D?.?C?.? ?- ?St. Bernie

Goodnight, honey. 
So long, kid. 
How's the weather at home? 
Love you, darling. 
It's raining here, today. 
Lots of heavy clouds. 
"Target! Firing! Hit! Flames!"
I'll be home. 
We'll walk by the lake,
?with the moonlight. 
"Spinning! Climbing!" 
We'll take the long drive, 
when the leaves change. 
"Cloud cover! Where are they?!" 
The bank is waiting for me 
to come back. 
I am promised a job. 
It won't be much to begin, 
but it will get better. 
I'll go to night school. 
You know how to can 
fruits and vegetables. 
Mom has always wanted 
to teach you her favorite recipes. 
I think the judge should marry us. 
That way we don't have to worry about 
which preacher will be offended. 
Or maybe they both will be. 
Small-town life. 
Husband and wife. 
I haven’t forgotten Bernie! 
Love you, Raymond. 


What do the angels see 
when they look down? 
Are they offended by so much bleeding? 
Does a world, once belonging to Paradise, 
seem like the right place for 
bullets in the head? 
A soft feather taking flight 
curved in gentle light, 
lifted into air 
as sweet as orange blossoms. 


Where are you? 
Come back to me. 
I feel like a cloud 
floating in an empty sky. 
Alone, now. 
Forever? 
Only you, my Ray of light. 
Only you walking by the lake. 
Mother wants to give me her dress, 
but I want a new one of my own. 
If we have girls, 
they can have their own dresses, too. 
If we have boys, 
I will let you teach them everything. 
But you know, I want them to come 
to my family's church. 
Granpa and ma 
are such dyed-in-the-wool church goers. 
With Dad gone, he'll walk me down the aisle. 
Come back to me, forever. 
Oh, and we will have a Saint Bernard. 


Are angels ever wrong? 
Do their sweet voices hide 
coiled tongues? 
Should we follow them 
or use them for target practice? 
We have been practicing on each other 
for centuries. 
At first, we had sticks and stones. 
Would it be any different 
than beating a bird to death? 
Blood and feathers.
Does god ever come down 
to teach us other ways? 
"Thou shalt not kill." 
Seems clear enough. 
What is the meaning of self defense? 
How much more do we need to love?