It is but stone – yet how it burns!
It that stood when bombs from sky rained down:
When heads to baskets fell before a Longford priest
On the streets of that French town
It looked on, clergy sided with the rich
Who the poor turned on, casting God aside
Who they disdained if his people on earth were so wrong
Turning in turn atheist, Protestant, and thousands died.
The church is not its clergy proud
The church is not made of stones ornate
The church is a humble crowd
Who kneel, spiritually prostrate
On life, on frailty reflect
As a spire falls that can be rebuilt
Easier than a church damaged by wrongs of clergy
Who deny and cover up those of guilt.
The world is our church, the river walk
The workplace, the home in the dark…
The road that we cycle on,
The swaying trees in the park.
The Cathedral, is the vanity of man
More to what he can make than Gods glory
All shall fall, all it takes is time
That is the meaning of this fires story.