Light pours in through vaulted beams,
golden sun streams on darkened oak,
whilst soles echo on the mosaic floor.

A chorus rises, and flies amongst the eaves
where starlings coo and spiders nest.

A stained-glass tear rolls down Mary's breast,
hot candlewax pools like the spent love of a *****.

Castrato lilts fill the heady air,
winter chill banished by glinting lamplight
that catches in the eyes of sinners,
a memory of some distant hymn once heard before.