There is amber in the abbey,
the fossils of old faith
a golden resin religion
to which the poorly pray
Under stone arches and carvings
beneath long gothic windows
the wonderstruck are worshipping
their own human credence
whether that belief is wholly benediction
or a selfishness in truth;
whether people act as angels
or as rich abbots of old
but the honest ones, that sing holy hymns
and mean it well, and enlighten heaven
I must admit, they are the most baffling
those who endeavor to have faith in humanity
when at times it seems too impossible
if you look at our world today-
everything that is sin worthy
is committed by cruel clergies
yet they remain, with both hands clasped
an utterance of aphorism upon their nephilim lips
praising the amber in the abbey, holy is their mass,
the wonderstruck are worshipping their own human credence.