| I saw the patron saints parade down city hall
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| I saw the patron saints for the handsome, rich and tall
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| I felt so out of place, appalling and appalled
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| They all drove away and there was no one left to call
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| Cause there ain’t no surrogate savior for my soul
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| There ain’t no patron saint for rock and roll
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| For rock and roll
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| I stood and watched the parade crowded in the back
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| I couldn’t see a thing through the patriotic flag
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| The huddled masses and me disillusioned in the rain
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| Wondering what America means when I feel so out of place
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| Sometimes I feel lonely, devilish and old
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| As if my congregation were the bitter cold
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| And my hymnal feels like it’s got holes
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| Christ alone could save my soul
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| There’s a park downtown
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| Where the homeless get ignored
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| Where the church next door is a crowd
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| Singing «Blessed are the poor»
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| Where the Mercedes drive away
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| Muttering, «druggies, drunks and whores»
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| Where the bumper sticker displays
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| «My copilot is the Lord» |