My music’s taking a turn for the political.
Lyrics by Ross Berman
The Son of Man said “Thank you all, for the lovely meal.”
But you already know about this story and about the deal.
What you don’t know is the thirty more, pieces of precious sand.
Fifteen gold and fifteen bronze in the Whore of Babylon’s hand.
It dropped the coins in her purse and took care of the Son of Man.
The Son of Man said, “People are lauding what I say.
What happened last night was me and you and you and me it’ll stay.”
The Whore of Babylon said, “Look at you, a big man.
You think I’m some trick who doesn’t know the score or plan?
Now take your shit and run as far, as fast as you can.”
Thirty to sixty transit cards, sinking in the sand,
out by the desert railline, where stands the Son of Man.
Heavy is the crown of thorns that he still has yet to know.
But right now he just needs to find out where hyenas go.
They grace the alleys of any town, as trends do to and fro.
The Son of Man said, “Father, what the fuck is this?
I’ve got scratch marks on my shoulder blades and fire when I piss.”
And god almighty smiled and poured another drink.
He sat a good long spell until the fog creeped up the sink.
He would’ve put a stop to that but he needed time to think.
Jupiter and Apollo, rocked on the front porch.
They ain’t talked a real long spell, since colossus held the torch.
Marijuana smiled, and rained on state and main.
The gym teacher needed something easy, to take away the pain.
As every mom that teen boys want, got drunk while watching Train.
Formula and the ten commandments, called Cecile B. Demille.
They told him if no one stops madness, then the Denver Broncos will.
Halftime we could bring the plagues and shower them with blood,
while all the girls with short hair cuts, keep chewing on their cud.
They just got dumped by that asshole who sold them all that good bud.
After 40 days in Utah, the Son of Man returned.
After all that desert, for the garden did he yearn.
And it was there that Zimmerman, planted that bad kiss.
And you know it, I don’t have to tell you anymore than this.
The Son of Man just turned his cheek and kissed the Roman fist.
With purple robes and bloody face, they beat him relentlessly.
The Son of Man said, “Father, how could you do this to me?”
But the Roman soldiers told him, “There’s nothing to be done.
Sorry for the marks on your shoulder, but whipping you is fun.”
It’d be millennia before that soldier was finally given a gun.
So, the Son of Man was on the cross for the Whore of Babylon.
But the Whore of Babylon was busy, she was raising a Judas son.
While Judas went electric, swinging from a tree.
He would’ve stayed political but he felt so guilty.
So now he’s gone and dead and never been more free.
Well in the kingdom of the lord, the Son of Man stood.
He pleaded with his father, but his pleading was no good.
“Another go around the bend” the Son of Man did beg.
Then slid his tip toes all the way to the end of the ledge,
and said, “If I don’t get my way then I’m sorry, that’s the end.”
Well, I guess you know the rest.
You ain’t heard Bon Iver like this before.
New music. Yay.
Mmmm, new beats.
New mix for Sunrise. Green Line