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It's the search for a church in the bottom of your purse |
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A spiritual home that you can take to the mall |
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You dig and you dig but you can only find your wallet |
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And your phone with a hundred missed calls |
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You could never return them all |
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And I watch you with your purse from the adjacent coffee table |
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At the Starbucks they built inside my heart |
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When your makeup starts to run I can see you're getting older |
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I can see your life has been hard |
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Your face is worn like an old playing card |
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The Queen of Hearts |
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I am working in my bedroom, I'm composing all the music |
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For a film that will never by made |
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It's the story of my life, a 1,000,000-hour epic |
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About a good man who went down in flames |
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Who got lost in God's multitude of names |
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I am searching, I am searching, I am waving my antennae |
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Trying to pick up some signal through this dream |
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I'm an ant in a hill, but I think and I feel |
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And I'm composing these love letters to the |
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Queen |
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Hoping somebody will see what I mean |
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The Queen of Hearts |
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I always heart about God with a wink and a nod |
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I guess I took it all too seriously |
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But I was five years old and I took what I was told |
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To mean that the sublime was in my reach |
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That the ocean of the known ends at the beach |
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Just up the street |
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But these days people like that are considered aberrations |
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And I'm being corrected as we speak |
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This is my heart, it's a motor, it will search the world over |
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A search engine--see what I mean |
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I don't need the Internet, I don't need TV |
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To find the Queen |
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So if you ever find that church that fits in your purse |
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Put it into your cold metal shopping cart |
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And keep on wandering the aisles on the sick fluorescent tiles |
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WE'll be miles and miles apart |
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I've got my own search and I'm still just at the start |
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I'll be out on the highways looking for my counterpart |
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The Queen of Hearts |
