(c) Arike van de Water 2007-2009
- We sit, grey silent statues on a bench.
- The shivers creep in bonedeep from the past.
- Dark smoky whispers, the imagined stench
- Of filthy rich, curl gracefully in vast
- Gold arches overhead. We rise to sing
- And banish night and death from our small minds.
- Amazing grace delivers glad tidings
- Anounced by angels of a God so kind
- That he became a human for a time
- To save us from ourselves. Now this we praise
- With voice and organ, flute and drum and chime
- We, warm with exultation, prayers raise.
- Tomorrow will dawn soon enough for our
- Violent turn on the Timewheel World-go-round.