Lyrics

Little Hills

Eddie likes fishing with his feet on the table
Judy likes singing the old country songs
Eddie goes missing, bout every Sunday
(and the) preacher keeps moving the choir along

Little dead mice fried on the brake pads
Judy’s latest casserole explodes with a bang
Eddie’s out back, hanging out with the creatures
they know all the words but they don’t wanna sing

Midnight dreams of fountains and colors
Some sleep soundly while others toss and turn
Little things can seem like mountains
They’re really just little hills of no concern

Eddie likes feeling at home in America
Agrees with the internet except when it’s wrong
Preacher keeps singing, waitin’ on Sunday
While the choir keeps hoping for a brand new song

Back in the kitchen, studying dishes
Judy’s on the radio, singing along
The phone keeps ringing, but no one is answering
The preacher called the choir, but they’re sick of the song

Midnight dreams of fountains and colors
Some sleep soundly while others toss and turn
Little things can seem like mountains
They’re really just little hills of no concern

Fishing and singing are better on Sundays
Early in the morning with the river clear and calm
Don’t tell the preacher he’ll take it the wrong way
God knows the difference
And the river can’t be wrong

Eddie’s back to fishing with his feet on everything
Judy’s headed south cause she likes to be warm
The preacher found a new song, just like the old one
But it doesn’t really matter cause the choir is gone

Midnight dreams of fountains and colors
Some sleep soundly while others toss and turn
Little things can seem like mountains
They’re really just little hills of no concern