You pray in the storm, I’ll sing to static on the radio
You there in the amber, I’m the clay
I just pulled out of a city I no longer know
who says don’t bother writing unless you’re dead or in the family way

Parades, alcohol, and love’s swinging phantoms
Everything everyone’s been dying for all year
Jimmy says there’s no God in the sky holding him for ransom
but he’s doing alright keeping himself hostage down here

This is where the insects go to expire, fire
This is where the children go to weep, sleep
This is where the gypsies go when they retire
Now they’re counting on you kid and your famous cold feet

But if everything rolls around again
does that mean we are free?
If everything rolls around again
does that mean we don’t have to follow the grail,
we can go ahead and swallow our tails
and then just wait and see?

If everything rolls around again,
what about the ceremonies in our beds,
the crushed flowers in our heads,
the hope and the smoke and the sleet
and the sad reoccurring dream
and the thirsty kisses in the rain
and the promise only the dead can keep?
Is that when we are free?

Or is there a fire you forgot to touch?
Is there a heart you never saw?
Do you think you’d miss it very much
if you’re the only living boy in Omaha?