Religion Laid Bare: Father John Misty – “Pure Comedy”

Father John Misty

“Pure Comedy”

Pure Comedy

Father John Misty is an odd musician.  He sounds like Elton John, until you hear what he is singing.  He is a genius.  This time, he takes on religion, and this is a topic he knows too much about.  Raised by a religious fundamentalist family and society where you cannot question anything (I identify), this is his exposure of the hypocrisy of the whole issue.  Misty’s lyrics are not pretty, but they are truthful.  Frightening so.  Misty often comes across as arrogant and even a bit of an asshole, but like Lou Reed and Johnny Rotten, he often is correct and certainly knows exactly what he is doing.  Read his lyrics to “Pure Comedy”.  You’ll understand his genius.

LYRICS:
The comedy of man starts like this:
Our brains are way too big for our mother’s hips
So, nature, she devised this alternative:
We emerge half-formed and hope whoever greets us on the other end
Is kind enough
To fill us in
And, babies, that’s pretty much how it’s been ever since

Now the miracle of birth leaves a few issues to address
Like say that half of us are periodically iron deficient
So somebody’s gotta go kill something while I look after the kids
I’d do it myself, but what, are you gonna get this thing his milk?
He says as soon as he gets back from the hunt we can switch
It’s hard not to fall in love with something so helpless
Ladies, I hope we don’t end up regretting this

Comedy
Now that’s what I call pure comedy
Just wait until the part where they start to believe
They’re at the center of everything
And some all powerful being
Endowed this horror show with meaning

Their religions are the best
They worship themselves but they’re totally obsessed
With risen zombies, celestial virgins, magic tricks
In these unbelievable outfits
And they get terribly upset
If you question their sacred texts
Written by woman-hating epileptics

Their languages just tend to confuse them
Their confusion somehow makes them more sure
Now they’re much too bright for the old superstitions
But they’re yet to find a new one they won’t serve

Where did they find these clowns they elected to rule them
They recline in outrage at the
These mammals are hell-bent on fashioning new gods
So they can go on being godless animals

Comedy
Their illusions that are all that they can see
Their horizons that just forever recede
How’s this for irony:
Their idea of being free
Is a prison of beliefs
They’ve every right to never leave

Comedy
It’s like something that a madman would conceive
The only thing that seems to makes them feel alive
Is the struggle to survive
But the only thing that they request
Is something to numb the pain with
Until there’s nothing human left

Just random matter suspended in the dark
Hate to say it, but each other’s all we’ve got