The God Awful Small Affairs - Joan Lyrics

Burn baby burn they chanted
Hysterical romantics
Never could reach you through smoke or dramatics
I'm hiding out in your bathroom attic

And who is this 'God' you're speakin
To in fields and in on weekends?
I'm the demon knocking on your door thrice
Crowing cocks or birds of paradise?

I tried to listen to
What Leonard sang about you
But no old white man could
Depict your dichotomy bitter
Bliss
Sainthood

You turn me to a pillar of salt
If I look behind me swallow you of that alter
You said I don't have to be all alone
Well ain't that easy for a prophet to say, Joan