Ron Hawkins - D.F.W. lyrics

I don't remember who wrote Was it St. Peter or St. Paul? That into every life A little sh**'s gonna fall I've been unfair and you've been untrue What the hell? What are we gonna do? We wrote that book That angry almanac Where the words you should never say Meet the things you can never take back Sad sleight of hand Cruel callous cracks Hollow hollers and countless counterattacks I took a walk past your home That old place on Virtue Street Didn't take me too long It's just eight houses, a lane and some trees Why's that street so small? It ain't no mystery It seems like living on virtue is the hardest place to be I woke up on Sunday mornin' With a freight train on my chest Evangelically alone Just me and that old Infinite Jest Words can feel like stones Words can be a noose Godspeed D.F.W. Words can take you home Words can make you choose Godspeed D.F.W.