Saint Peter from Small Hours by Peter Forman

Saint Peter
Lyrics by Peter Forman

I’m sorry that Jesus — had to die for our sins—
Sorry that Magdalen— couldn’t comfort him.
Sorry that Abraham — couldn’t save Sodom—
Sorry for Lot’s wife—‘cause now she’s a column.
Sorry that Eve took bad advice from a snake—
I’m sorry for everything—don’t that take the cake?

Sorry your teenage girl is sneakin’ out at night—
Sorry that the boys all think her ass is tight.
Sorry I heard your wife’s been drinkin’ all day—
I’m really so sorry—I don’t know what to say.
Sorry but I can’t remember your name—for the life of me—
I’m sorry for everything—you diggin’ this game?

Well they call me Saint Peter and I may have earned the title,
Workin’ round-the-clock to keep you, and to keep you from the bottle.
I keep the sabbath holy and I bang the drum so slowly.
I keep a candle burning for the abject and the lowly.
Yeah, they call me Saint Peter—for all that I do—
But it’s really ‘cause I still put up with you.

Sorry for the sexy girl who’s got nowhere to go—
Sorry for the awkward boy the girls don’t want to know.
Sorry you got Botox—your face was still sad.
Sorry your ex-husband is a deadbeat dad.
Sorry for the rent that’s always past due.
I’m sorry for everyone—even sorry for you.

Hey Saint Peter!
(Hey, yeah!)
What’cha doin Peter?
(Don’t ask!)
Gonna see a lover?
(Oh, no!)
Gonna blow your cover?
(Hell, no!)
Hey Saint Peter
(What’s up?)
Halo’s slippin’ now.
(Don’t say!)
Don’t you worry.
(Oh, why?)
Death’s not in a hurry.

I’m sorry for the puppies left out in the cold.
Sorry for the stories that haven’t been told.
Sorry for preachers with no congregation.
Sorry for old men with no conversation.
I’m sorry that it’s gettin’ so hard to pee—
I’m sorry for everything—are you sorry for me?

Well they call me Saint Peter and I’m sure I’ve earned the title
Workin’ round-the-clock to keep you, and to keep you on the bottle.
I keep the sabbath holy and I bang the drum so slowly.
I keep a candle burning for the abject and the lowly.
Yeah, they call me Saint Peter—for all that I do—
But you know it’s really ‘cause I still—put up with you.

Hey Saint Peter!
(Hey, yeah!)
What’cha doin Peter?
(Don’t ask!)
Gonna say a prayer?
(Yeah why?)
You close to despair?
(Who ain’t?)
Hey Saint Peter
(What’s up?)
Saints are goin’ home.
(‘Bout time)
But, no need to worry.
(Oh, why?)
Death’s not in a hurry.

There’s no need for you to worry ‘cause—
Death’s not in a hurry.

• Folk
• acoustic
• jazz influenced
• reflective
• singer-songwriter
• storytelling
• wry
• Atlanta