Gently I walked into abandoned church
I saw her alter growing weeds, and her priest burning with God's words in his fists
I saw his fumes flying freely to the sky
But it's not a sacrifice
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.