The Ghost of Alexander Lyrics

It's midnight at Twilight

First night swing set adventure

She's just a stranger right next to me

The drinks have got me singing out of tune

So she be like

You must be from Schenectady

Don't sweat it boy

You ain't done nothing wrong here

Don't sweat it, boy

Of course you belong here

If it gets too painful

He's got all the answers

Your guardian angel is

The ghost of Alexander

Curled up on a Sunday with a jazz book

To unpack the myth of Old Glory

It's beautifully written so I can't put it down

But it's a messy story

The professor assures me

We're supposed to dislike the bad guy

Because he's singing replacement songs

But I've seen the letters

Where Francis sings them songs, too

So maybe I do not belong here after all

That's in the past boy

Of course you belong here

Not since 1820

We ain't sung that song here

If it gets too painful

He's got all the answers

Your guardian angel is

The ghost of Alexander

So don't worry, boy

These folks ain't gonna do you no harm

They welcomed Alexander with open arms

So his ghost has got your back

For as long as you stay black

The dream was already behind him

Somewhere in that vast obscurity

Where the dark fields of the republic

Rolled on under the night

And blessed are the dead

That the rain falls on

Professor heart-and-soul searching

Whaddya know

It turns out nothing is what it seems

Alexander ain't yo ghost

He's just a box of bones

That they dug up to service yo dreams

To the tap tap tap of their

Pats on the back

They found it very necessary

To drag them bones into the

Colored section of the

Picklebury Cemetary

But the brotha said nothing

About his African past

The brotha said nothing

And nobody asked

The brotha wasn't actively

Tryna pave the way

That may not be passing

But it sho' is strange

Skeleton marionette cakewalk dancer

Skeleton marionette positioned to pander

Don't call me ungrateful

For just wanting some answers

My guardian angel is

Just the bones of Alexander

Just a box of bones

To whom it may concern

Keep that boy running

To whom it may concern

Keep that boy running

And blessed are the dead

That the rain falls on