The Despot's Favorite Singer

I don’t know anything about his politics

I really don’t

And I’m not interested to know

My grandmother was a singer

Just like I am

And my grandmother sang

For some of the best people

And the worst people

You’ve ever heard about

Or haven’t heard about

She didn’t ask questions

She sang

It wasn’t her job to ask questions

They paid her to sing

They pay me to sing

And to smile

And to make people happy

And I can’t be worrying about

Who believes what

And who’s done what

While I’m singing

Worry ain’t good for the voice

You understand?

Neither is air-conditioning

So as long as you keep me cool

I don’t have a problem with you

I’ve had problems with people in my life

For other things

But I let ‘em go

I forgive

I forgive because I was raised in the church

And the church taught me

To let God deal with punishment

I just need to deal with forgiving

And singing

I used to sing in church

And the pastor would touch me

On the small of my back

And say ‘Good, good’

Under his breath

‘Good, good’

And he was a bad man

He wasn’t a despot

He didn’t persecute people

He didn’t oppress

Not in big numbers anyway

Not in a way that’ll put you

In a history book

But he was bad

And I sang for him

I sang knowing what I knew

And everybody knew

And we all sat there

And people to listened to me

And him hearing me

Didn’t have anything to do

With them listening

And enjoying it

Do you understand that?

They needed that music

From me

From anybody they could get it from

And the music didn’t sound any worse

Because a bad man

Was hearing it alongside them

Now I’m singing for a despot

Because I’m his favorite singer

I’ll probably sing for tyrants

Before I’m done

And it’s not an endorsement

They get a mouthful from me

When they ask for an endorsement

So they don’t ask anymore

They just ask me to sing

And when I’m singing

All I’m thinking about

Is a little girl

In the crowd

Or the room

The theater

The auditorium

Listening to me

And maybe she’s got a bad man

That she’s gotta find the strength

To live with

To survive

And maybe I can give her a little

Of that strength

Cause the way I always looked at it

In my case

Was that I wasn’t singing

For that pastor

For that bad man

I was singing over him

I was singing and casting that music

Up, up and over him

Right up to Heaven

And to any angel

That needed to hear it

To let them know

That I was still going

That he hadn’t got me yet

I sing and I think of the girl

I was back then

Then I turn to the bad man

I’m singing for

And a lot of them are bad men

Even the ones you don’t know are bad

I turn to them

And I smile

And they think it’s for them

And they’re wrong

But you know

Men like that

They’re wrong

About a lot

Of things