There's an independent bookstore
The last one that remains
All those others you might look for

Have been eaten by the chains
They soldier on
No one cleans the window panes


It was there I read the story
So strange it must be real

Of a car in Arizona
With Elvis at the wheel
He's looking up

The sky has something to reveal

It is the face of Josef Stalin

That is formed by drifting clouds
Above the sleeping Memphis mafia
And unsuspecting cows


This is a sign from God! It's plain
This is a sign that nothing he does for the rest of his life

Will be the same

It's a medieval moment

A religious episode
He is shaking in his footsteps
On the dusty desert road

His entourage are nervous
And subdued


How must it be to feel such passion?
To be caught up in the thrall
In some unfathomable fashion

Like a pink and black St. Paul?

Repeat chorus