Nelson Algren came to Paddy
At some party at The Dead End Alley
Yeah, he told him what to celebrate

And I met William Butler Yeats
Sunday night dance party, Summer 1988
At first I thought it might be William Blake

We mix our own mythologies
We push them out through PA systems
We dictate our doxologies
We try to get sleeping kids to sit up and listen
And I'm not saying that we could save you
But we could put you in a place where you could save yourself
And if you don't get born again
At least you'll get high as hell

Yeah, and sweet St. Paul
That must be the hardest luck saint of 'em all
We met him at some suburban St. Paul mall
Yeah, and St. Theresa came to Holly
But I wasn't even at that party
I'd already moved out to New York City

Yeah, when Judas went up and kissed him
I almost got sick
I guess I knew what was coming
I guess I knew it was coming
We gather our gospels from gossip and bar talk
And then we declare them the truth
We salvage our sermons from message boards and scene reports
And we sic them on the youth
Yeah, we try out new testaments on the guys sitting next to us
In the bars with the bars on the windows, alright
And even if you don't get converted tonight
You gotta admit the band's pretty tight

They did "She's Got Legs" into "Ain't Too Proud To Beg"
Into something by the Dixie Dregs
And they faked their way through "Fairytale of New York"
When the band stopped playing we howled out for more

Hey Nelson Algren, Chicago seemed tired last night
They had cigarettes where there were supposed to be eyes
Hey William Butler Yeats, all the Irish seemed wired last night
They tried to separate our girls from our guys

They had cigarettes where there were supposed to be eyes