I went back to my little town, saw the river, and I drifted down past Mosquito Beach,
I stayed just out of reach, while the Cottonwoods swayed and the Catholics prayed over at St. Isadore's,
When I could wander no more I headed for the shore, and your name came to my lips,
Epiphany: the gospel's alive in me.
I imagine myself walking down a street in some little town, not unlike my little town,
And walking up to the very first person I lay eyes on,
And saying to that stranger, "Hey man, is the gospel alive in you?"
Then the stranger speaks in a liquid voice, as I imagine and angel might speak, and he says to me...
He says, "Go, go...go climb a tree,"
He says, "Go, go...go climb a tree."
So I went back to my little town, climbed a tree and had a look,
There goes ol' singing John without his helmet on, and the rice fields are burning,
The Feather, she's a-churning under the 10th street bridge,
And there's an SR-71's vapor trail, and you come you my mind,
Epiphany: the gospel's alive in me.
I imagine myself standing in a tree in some little town, not unlike my little town,
Shouting out to the whole wide world I lay eyes on,
And I say to the world, "Hey world, is the gospel alive in you?"
Then the world speaks in a worldly voice, as I imagine and world might speak, and it says to me...
It says, "Climb down...down from your tree,"
It says, "Climb down...down from your tree."
Thank God I'm not as sensitive as I used to be,
Oh, I think I will...I think I will...I think I will stay in my tree.
