Sock Heaven - Steve Taylor

Out of the wringer, into the dryer

Spins the clothes higher

Squeezing out static and shocks

Little stockings tumbling 'round together

Couldn’t cling forever

Now I’m missing one of my socks

Lord, where do they go?

One pile waits with their god in a box

The other pile nervously mocks heaven

Misfits lost in the dryer, take heart

Maybe there’s a place up in sock heaven

Out of the wringer, into the dryer

Couldn’t just retire

Had to try tempting the fates

One little band spinning 'round together

Couldn’t cling forever

God, I think I’m losing my mates

Seven good years, followed by a feeling I’d hit the glass ceiling

Maybe I’d best disappear

Pick any market

Pick a straitjacket

If you can’t act it

Misfit, you don’t belong here

Lord, where do we go?

Didn’t want a platform to build a new church

Didn’t want a mansion in rock heaven

Didn’t want more than to be understood

Maybe there’s a place up in sock heaven

Lord, where do we go?

We’re gathered here to ask the Lord’s blessing

Maybe not his blessing

Maybe we’re not asking at all

Out of the box with every good intention

Did you fail to mention

This time we were destined to crawl?

And every day that we died just a little more

I was sure you were sovereignly watching us dangle

I don’t get it now

But I’ll get it when

In sock heaven I see it all from your angle

God’s got his saints up in sock heaven