D.F.W. Songtext
von Ron Hawkins

I don′t remember who wrote
Was it St. Peter or St. Paul?
That into every life
A little shit's gonna fall
Well I′ve been unfair
And you've been untrue
What the hell
What are we gonna do?

And we wrote that book
That angry almanac
The words you should never say
Meet the things you can never take back
The sad sleight of hand
And cruel, calloused cracks
Hollow hollers and
Countless counterattacks


I took a walk past your home
That old place on Virtue Street
Didn't take me too long
It′s just eight houses, a lane, and some trees
And why′s that street so small?
It ain't no mystery
Seems like living on Virtue′s
The hardest place to be

I woke up on a Sunday morning
With a freight train on my chest
Evangelically alone
Just me and that old Infinite Jest
Words can feel like stones
Words can be a noose
Godspeed, D.F.W

Words can take you home
Words can make you choose
Godspeed, D.F.W