Sunday Morning Static

Pastors in their thousand-dollar shoes talkin' 'bout the meek

While the collection plate gets heavy and the floorboards creak

With the weight of all the secrets that this town was built to keep

They pray for peace on Sunday then they sow their hate all week

Got a cross on their neck and a flag on their truck

Preachin' from the capitol steps in Jackson, wishin' us bad luck

If you're anyone whose skin ain't pale, whose truth they can't tuck

Into a neat little box, so they can run amok.

It's that Sunday morning static, can you hear the sound?

The hum of all the hypocrisy buried in this ground

They sing "Amazing Grace" so loud they hope the truth is drowned

But I hear the whispers of the bodies that they ain't never found

It's a frequency of fury, a signal of the pain

Beneath the steeple shadows, standin' in the acid rain

They're broadcasting salvation, but it's all just in vain

'Cause the realest prayer I know is just the screamin' of a name.

Sheriff's car is parked outside the diner every single day

Knows just who to bother, knows just who to look away

From the pharmacist that's dealin' to the kids who've lost their way

But he'll pull you over quick if your taillight's gone astray.

They picket signs for lovers, but not for the corporate greed

That poisoned all the water, planted a corrupted seed

They tell a woman what to do with a body that might bleed

But turn the page when it's a child that's hungry and in need.

It's that Sunday morning static, can you hear the sound?

The hum of all the hypocrisy buried in this ground

They sing "Amazing Grace" so loud they hope the truth is drowned

But I hear the whispers of the bodies that they ain't never found

It's a frequency of fury, a signal of the pain

Beneath the steeple shadows, standin' in the acid rain

They're broadcasting salvation, but it's all just in vain

'Cause the realest prayer I know is just the screamin' of a name.

They love the sinner, hate the sin, that's the motto they repeat

But the sin is just existin' on their side of the street

The sin is bein' different, the sin is bein' free

The biggest sin of all is bein' anything like me.

And their heaven sounds like hell, so I ain't even tryin' to go

Just listen close, beneath the hymns, and watch the static grow.