Now I rush to the finger of light   I guess I tore my head off   I hope there's something waiting for me   To make my exit payoff      Taste and smell and touch   Have faded from pollution   As a last resort   I chose the stupidest solution      The first thing I did when I got in the gate   Was crank up the left-hand dial   I got there first   The track star seemed to take a while      Now I can dance like Nureyev   With these wings on my body   St. Peter complains   That it's too loud down in the lobby      And I hear the voice of God   He's brilliant on the microphone   And the radio in heaven   Can make a heathen feel at home      All these notes flying out   Play havoc with my heart   Every word sung   Is both emotional and smart      There's a gorgeous sunset   Happening on the airwaves   I really want you to hear this song one day   So you behave      And I hear the voice of God   He's brilliant on the microphone   And the radio in heaven   Can make a heathen feel at home, at home