Text on brittle, acidic papers
Soprano crescendo from the pious women of the church
Belting archaic hymns of the gates of heaven
And the power shuts down in a snap.
In a snap the light bulbs glare
Charged full by the day tonight they are proud
And the singing resumes
Pious women, belting archaic hymns of the
Gates of heaven.
Words on acidic papers, sheets of hymns
They glow, they beat, they speak
To the living who sings the archaic hymns
Of the gates of heaven
Shining ever brighter than the emergency bulbs on the ceiling.
Not a verse interrupted
When the power shut down in a snap
The pious women of the church
Resume in their high pitch singing
The archaic hymns of the gates of heaven.
And the body lies still
Doesnt blink, doesnt twitch
Impervious of the momentary darkness
Subdued by the high pitch singing
Of the archaic hymns of the gates of heaven.
If not for the light bulbs
And the soprano singing of the pious women
I would have never understood
The archaic hymns about the golden gates of heaven.
