The raised stalls where the angelic chosen sing
The incense narcotic and on the walls the old boys dead
The masters gowned, a fixture of our lives
Us scholarship boys freshly blazered to make our parents proud
At twelve it all seemed so important
This weight of piety
Now the stalls are empty
The chapel musty with decay
I don't feel God on my shoulder now
Too old or impotent or just despairing of us all
