Street View Sermon

[Verse 1]
Tuesday, 3:17 AM in Silver Lake.
The cursor's a ghost on Powell Boulevard.
I trace the busted concrete, for goodness sake,
The screen is cold and slick and razor-hard.
This digital pilgrimage, my only way;
I whisper your address into the gray.

[Chorus]
And this is my church now, the humming of the tower.
This is my prayer to the satellite's power.
I'm on my knees, yeah, a pixelated grace.
I worship the memory of your face.

[Verse 2]
There's the rusted-out Subaru, the crooked fence.
The overgrown juniper where we buried the dog.
"The wiring's shot," you told me once, it made no sense,
"Just gotta learn to live with all the static fog."
I see the shattered keyboard in the garage again,
I smell the wet pine needles in the Portland rain.

[Chorus]
And this is my church now, the humming of the tower.
This is my prayer to the satellite's power.
I'm on my knees, yeah, a pixelated grace.
I worship the memory of your face.

[Bridge]
(Drums and Vocals only)
Click track. Left turn. Right turn.
Red light. Street sign. Watch it burn.
One block. Two blocks. End of the line.
Your front door. Never mine.

[Outro]
(Music returns with a whistled, lonely melody)
The screen goes dark. Amen.