Sunday morning
Quiet as a shut church
Closed for lack of parishioners
And the padre hangs
From the bell tower.
I will go outside and holler
Open up the church
You sinners, it is after eight
Wake up your dogs
Let them bark at nothing
To create a sound
That doesn’t drip of stillness
Bur brings life, a promise
That you are not chained
Forever, there will be a day
Of freedom and the laughter
Of a child once more heard.