We sit outside and argue all night long
About a god we've never seen
But never fails to side with me
Sunday comes and all the papers say
Ma Teresa's joined the mob
And happy with her full time job

Am I alive or thoughts that drift away?
Does summer come for everyone?
Can humans do what prophets say?
If I die before I learn to speak
Can money pay for all the days I lived awake but half asleep?

Primative Radio Gods, Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth With Money in my Hand


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