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You're invited to the party |
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Down by the rocket crash |
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No one knows what happened there |
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Cause the thing went down so fast |
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And they've gathered up the pieces |
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Still burning with blue radiance |
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Some say it's just a missile |
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Others say it must be aliens |
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And the only eye-witness |
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Is a Russian widow and she says |
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"It's clear that he has come again |
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Sell your SUVs for Jesus" |
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But the merchants were the first to come |
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With popcorn stands and freakshows |
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Selling everything from religious relics to plastic UFOs |
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And the news teams come with cameras cameras cameras thick as flies |
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A Pulitzer Prize to the first of you who talks to the alien Christ |
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And the days they came and went |
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With no sign of the mystical |
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So they all went back to the daily drone |
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Of the practical and predictable |
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And Farmer Johnson built his rambler house upon that rocket hole |
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As if to prove man's domain |
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Over everything unknown |
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And he fell in love with the neighbor girl |
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And had a baby shortly after |
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That kid never made a single sound |
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Except the sound of laughter |
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And the words first came at 8 years old |
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When she spoke about the crash |
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And she said and she said and she said |
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"Someone as God came |
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And ran its fingers through my hair" |
