Geronimo Gospel

[Verse 1]
You're on the Geronimo Trail overpass, Tuesday in July.
The heat off the asphalt makes a shimmer in your eye.
You feel the freight train rumble, a vibration in your jaw,
Just a pressure crack waiting to expose your fatal flaw.
You thought your world was sun-bleached, just a hundred shades of tan,
Didn't know a universe could hide inside a human hand.

[Chorus]
And you call this worship, concrete under your feet.
A congregation of two in the hundred-degree heat.
Yeah, you call this worship, a gospel in the dust,
A sudden hallelujah learned in something you can trust.

[Verse 2]
He said, "Promise you'll remember this exact shade of blue."
The sky was turning violet, he was looking straight through you.
Smell of creosote blooming from a storm that never came,
Like your body knew salvation but you hadn't learned its name.
He traces the salt crystal that dried beside your mouth,
The only direction you knew then was south.

[Chorus]
And you call this worship, concrete under your feet.
A congregation of two in the hundred-degree heat.
Yeah, you call this worship, a gospel in the dust,
A sudden hallelujah learned in something you can trust.

[Instrumental Breakdown]
(No vocals for 20 seconds)

[Bridge]
Now the Portland drizzle falls in sheets of silver-gray,
Washes all the pigment from the memory of that day.
But you close your eyes and feel it—the vibration in the bone,
That first tectonic shifting, the second you weren't alone.

[Chorus]
And you call this worship, concrete under your feet.
A congregation of two in the hundred-degree heat.
Yeah, you call this worship, a gospel in the dust,
A sudden hallelujah learned in something you can trust.

[Outro]
Still spitting that same dust.
A gospel in the dust.