God in a Can (Surf Song)

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Yorn's Apostles

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"It can fit in the palm of your hand"
Said the mystery man
Who sold his God in a can
Lived in a lighthouse far away from the shore,
Where he waxed all his knives
Until his palms would go sore
Prodigal daydream
Lost my train of thought for good
Fess up to the screaming sunshine
You know the market's gone dead
So lay your tongue on the line
Tired screaming, see three suns in the sky
In the white room certain of or,
Wishing you died
Prodigal daydream
Lost my sense of time for good
Sun
Boiling tide
Stinging rays
Sting your mind
Days
Passing by
Waves come in
Wave goodbye
Prodigal daydream
Lost my train of thought for good
I've heard I'm where nobodies heard of
Much known but little's understood

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