The Number Seven Sermon

[Verse 1]
My red Naugahyde is cracked a little deeper now
Since the Tuesday when the campaign signs went up all over town.
He sat right here and stared at her, the menu in his hand,
Like he was trying to irrigate some piece of stubborn land.

[Chorus]
She don't preach from no pulpit, just a steaming bowl
Pourin' out a little mercy for a bitter soul.
It ain't just broth and basil, it's a holy thing,
The Number Seven Sermon that I hear her sing.

[Verse 2]
He asked her where she's *from* from, with a little sneer,
She just smiled, said "Cảm ơn, been right here twenty year."
The steam rose from the phở like a river in the heat,
A quiet Mekong running down the middle of the street.

[Chorus]
She don't preach from no pulpit, just a steaming bowl
Pourin' out a little mercy for a bitter soul.
It ain't just broth and basil, it's a holy thing,
The Number Seven Sermon that I hear her sing.

[Bridge]
And when the lunch rush fades, she takes a dampened cloth,
Wipes my vinyl down like she's absolving every moth
From a porch light sin, a baptism slow and clean,
In the quietest sanctuary I have ever been.

[Chorus]
She don't preach from no pulpit, just a steaming bowl
Pourin' out a little mercy for a bitter soul.
It ain't just broth and basil, it's a holy thing,
The Number Seven Sermon that I hear her sing.

[Outro]
A holy thing.
A holy thing.