
Organ dusters gathered in the church
And some day that piece of paper
Will be yellowed and fragile
An atlas of Heaven
Burned at the edges
Cupped by a dais
The stained-glass story looks on
Colors like crayons
They talk to each other
They want to kill what is good
And praise all that is bad
A cloaked figure shakes his head
Distaste is such a waste
Candle wax burns the hand
As the wrecked world prays and chants



Your thoughts?