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Summer, Early 60's Lyrics
It's summer, early 60's
And it must be Sunday evening
'Cause you can smell a good revival
And it's way past our bedtime
There are hellfire brimstone preachers
There are tongues interpretations
There are reasons that go deeper than the treason in our souls
But the air is thick and the night is warm
And the pew's too hard to sleep on
It keeps us straight, no comfort here
This world is not our home
There ain't no mercy for the wicked
Sing the voices from the choir
Tonight your soul might be required
In the presence of the Lord
Mama leads us past the graveyard
She knows there's ghosts we have to pass by
And we sure don't wanna wake them in the middle of the night
Up ahead we see her walking
She knows there's judgement 'round the corner
She keeps her pace steady
Got her Bible in her hand
Oh, but daddy sits at home
Got his boots up on the table
And he's watching Bonanza as he hears the time tick by
He's got cigarettes and coffee
He's got little bean bag ashtrays
He's listening to Bonanza
But the clock has got his eye
There ain't no mercy for the wicked
Sing the voices from the choir
Tonight your soul might be required
In the presence of the Lord
He's standing, now he's pacing
There's a river that runs through him
And he can't call back his anger
As he meets us at the door
There are questions, accusations
Then he strikes just like a rattler
And his rage, it is relentless
Never less then always more
Feel the fire in the hallway
See the demon in the doorway
Our hearts are beating faster
As we duck between the shouts
We can hear the TV next door as they push the volume louder
They're convinced it ain't their business
We're just praying, make it stop
There ain't no mercy for the wicked
Sing the voices from the choir
Tonight your soul might be required
In the presence of the Lord
There ain't no mercy for the wicked
Sing the voices from the choir
Tonight your soul might be required
In the presence of the Lord
We've got burgular-proof houses
In our neighborhood of secrets
There's no one breaking in here
And nobody getting out
And it must be Sunday evening
'Cause you can smell a good revival
And it's way past our bedtime
There are hellfire brimstone preachers
There are tongues interpretations
There are reasons that go deeper than the treason in our souls
And the pew's too hard to sleep on
It keeps us straight, no comfort here
This world is not our home
Sing the voices from the choir
Tonight your soul might be required
In the presence of the Lord
She knows there's ghosts we have to pass by
And we sure don't wanna wake them in the middle of the night
Up ahead we see her walking
She knows there's judgement 'round the corner
She keeps her pace steady
Got her Bible in her hand
Got his boots up on the table
And he's watching Bonanza as he hears the time tick by
He's got cigarettes and coffee
He's got little bean bag ashtrays
He's listening to Bonanza
But the clock has got his eye
Sing the voices from the choir
Tonight your soul might be required
In the presence of the Lord
There's a river that runs through him
And he can't call back his anger
As he meets us at the door
There are questions, accusations
Then he strikes just like a rattler
And his rage, it is relentless
Never less then always more
See the demon in the doorway
Our hearts are beating faster
As we duck between the shouts
We can hear the TV next door as they push the volume louder
They're convinced it ain't their business
We're just praying, make it stop
Sing the voices from the choir
Tonight your soul might be required
In the presence of the Lord
Sing the voices from the choir
Tonight your soul might be required
In the presence of the Lord
In our neighborhood of secrets
There's no one breaking in here
And nobody getting out
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