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Bad Religion Lyrics

12. Prodigal Son



Oh, can't you feel the nostalgia?
I wonder about ya, Modernistocrat Horatio Alger.
Clever, never hesitating in the baiting,
Ever waiting for the canticle of manacles abating.

Did you ever forget, you had a regret?
And what you only guessed at
Might still be waiting?

When the prodigal son, with a caroming shadow of hate,
Comes to land at home,
Well he's a mourning star with a champagne heart
At his curtain call.

And Father never understood the way the work gets done.
Don't look at me; no, I ain't one.
No prodigal son.

Don't look at me; no, I ain't one.
No prodigal son.

When everybody about
is ready to bout y'all about controversial values,
Don't you think you'd better readdress the level
Of the cowardice rising to drown you?

Did you ever connect or come to reject,
Or even inspect
The dreams that hound you?

When the prodigal son, with a caroming shadow of hate,
Comes to land at home,
Well he's a mourning star with a champagne heart
At his curtain call.

And Father never understood the way the work gets done.
Don't look at me; no, I ain't one.
No prodigal son.

Don't look at me; no, I ain't one.
No prodigal son.

When you least expect it he's going to run,
Like the blood-red path of the western sun, oh yeah.

The prodigal son is waiting,
Waiting for his moment to come.

Well hell no, don't look at me.
Can't you see? I ain't one.
No prodigal son.

It ain't me; no, I ain't one.
No prodigal son.


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