Like to a desolate chapel
people come to me
Looking for comfort and warmth
Still, they’re always leaving me

Covered and surrounded
by more than just one weed
It doesn’t really matter
when they find the thing they need

No one seems to care about
the awful state I’m in
I’m merely a refuge for people
bothered by troubles or sin

My chapel’s walls
need a new layer of paint
So does my body
to go on without another complaint

The times are uncountable
That I’m out there on my own
Even with a new layer of paint
I still would be alone

03/14/2002

Posted on 03/14/2002
Copyright © 2024 Anne Engelen