[INTRO — slurred half-whisper, conspiratorial] I ain't sayin' I saw God But the jar blinked first Then it cleared its little throat and said, “Brother, you've been cursed.” [VERSE 1 — loose, theatrical hill-prophet storytelling] I confessed to a raccoon In a preacher's Sunday coat He handed me a mason jar And said, “Son, that's your note.” Said, “You ain't drunk, you're awakened You just woke up wrong.” Then the moon started humming Like it knew the words to my song. Squatch was standing at the tree line In a necktie made of bark Said, “Brother, I've been watching you Make a church out of the dark.” Then my shadow cleared its throat And started preaching back at me: “You ain't lost, you ain't broken, You're just spiritually tipsy.” [PRE-CHORUS — mock-serious gospel swell] So pour it slow For the spirits I don't trust If I'm going down tonight I wanna go down righteous as rust. [CHORUS — drunken testimony, bigger] This is my moonshine confessional Pulpit made of pine and regret If heaven's real, I'll leave a bad review But the devil ain't disappointed yet. Preacher Possum bless my sins Widow Crow hums down low If this ain't holy, Lord, I don't know But the jar keeps telling me, “Let go.” [INSTRUMENTAL BREAK] [VERSE 2 — increasingly unhinged but oddly sincere] There's a ghost out in the woods Keeps borrowing my coat Claims he used to be a mayor Till he learned that mayors float. Now the jar speaks fluent prophecy In a dialect of corn: “You ain't crazy, son, You're just spiritually unborn.” The moon winked twice Then hiccupped out a light Every cricket in the holler Dressed itself up Sunday-night. Widow Crow said, “Keep on walking, There's a truth beneath the haze.” Then Squatch yelled from the treeline, “Brother, you've been lost for days!” [BRIDGE — half crying, half laughing] If this world's insane Then maybe I'm all right The pine trees started clapping When I stumbled toward the light. I heard something in the darkness Say my name without a sound I asked it if that was Heaven It said, “Brother, look around.” [FINAL CHORUS — ecstatic, ridiculous, sincere] This is my moonshine confessional Pulpit made of cedar and bone If I wake up cursed tomorrow At least I wasn't sober alone. Squatch said, “Son, don't fear the haze” Preacher Possum praised my ways Widow Crow just laughed and said, “Truth don't always come in sober shapes.” If faith smells like corn and lies And fireflies know the way Maybe God ain't in the church tonight— Maybe God just got delayed. [OUTRO — exhausted whisper] If I disappear Tell the jar I loved her... She always understood me Better than my mother. [Cork pop] [Long silence] [Owl hoot fading]
