She is a church solemn and cold / Lillies surround her left in the name of a mother’s love / Buried beneath a stoic altar wrapped in a tomb of grace and trust /So many offerings unhonored, So many hymns of praise unheard
The one she needs the most is gone
Used to hear bells chime and walk in through open doors / The pipe organ used to sing like a saint before the sword / Now she’ll take confession, but never offer communion / The cup of blood has soured and nothing’s left of the body but crumbs
The one she needs the most is gone
There’s no one left to tend the garden or sweep the floor / Her benches all rest empty, angelic robes never worn / You’d give anything to lift her into the heaven she deserves / But how can she ascend when she’s made of glass and stone
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