The preacher scrubbed your sins away   absolved you under rafters
   under fire
   under auspices
Of books with dust in bindings
     layed down many lifetimes thick.
But a preacher needs a pulpit
   like a fish requires scales
Without the choir, no pool to swim.

Senators tell you sweetened lies
   that half us want to hear
     two per state
     means only saying
"Sorry," 'bout half the time
     to half the people, sometimes.
But a liar needs your two ears
and a moment of your time
No need for snake oil when you're well.

McGowan is a drinker, true
   draining oceans of pints dry
   under fire
   under praises, too
From quarters high and lowly
     his legend laid down thickly
But a preacher needs a pulpit
     and McGowan needs a page
Needs pen in hand and needs a stage

Otherwise, he's just a "Shane."

Fundraising for the flood
     but there's bound to be another one
     year-to-year they always come
     and wash out the Midwest.

So just ride your bike for high ground
Pedal fast, forget the chests
     that sit there filled with pledged donations
     for the drowning, doomed Midwest.