My Father the Organist

He goes there every week
My father the organist he never got to see the light

Still the sermons don’t come cheap
They hang around like lazy ghosts
To haunt him in his sleep at night

He’s been 40 years the spirited observer
In the holy theatre of the absurd
Says he don’t believe a word

The congregation stands
The new disciples wave their hands
The minister begins to preach

A woman speaks in tongues
Interpreted by chosen ones
Salvation still just out of reach

40 years of counting out the blessing
Examining the fickle heart of faith
He says he’s left it all too late

My father the organist

« Back to Lyrics & Poems