| Stained-glass and the choir sing out that strong and ceaseless chorus here
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| So sweet the voices, sweep like leaves into the street
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| On Eastern, a celebration carried on for God and hope and refuge
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| To keep each other, life; |
| give shelter from the storm. |
| And keep warm
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| The congregation gathers outside in the parking lot, each service done
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| They keep the old hymn rolling on and on and
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| I see the scene in color each day driving out to Eastown
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| That old abandoned church and have I gone the same sad way?
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| Have I gone the same sad way?
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| Through the sixties flourished and the seventies in flux
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| The eighties fluctuate each year unclear of when the money would dry up
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| And when the nineties violent crime and rising unemployment rates came by
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| That parking lot grew dim and thin of sinners and saints
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| Until the voices, unceasing, slowly faded to black
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| Until the weeds stormed the concrete from unattended cracks
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| It had to know, had to feel that glory never coming back
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| Like I could feel it when the passion left, the last of what I had
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| It had to know like I knew
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| And I can’t find it back
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| Might not ever.
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| Ten years now standing vacant
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| Ten years on empty, maybe more
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| Once held the faith of hundreds
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| Soon one more cell phone store
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| For years they gathered here
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| Inside the building sound and true
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| To sing their praises to a god that gave them hope
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| To carry on, to carry through
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| So, I’ve been thinking about that
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| Sometimes go slow when I drive by
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| How a home of stone and a house so holy
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| Grows so empty over time
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| What gave those people purpose
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| Past death approaching constantly
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| Now left to crumble slowly
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| Now left to wither with the weeds
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| Now left to ice and vandals
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| The advent candles long since gone
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| The old foundation shifting hard
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| The concrete overgrown, but
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| That stained-glass window sits untouched amongst the brickwork worn
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| A symbol of the beauty only perfect at that moment we were born
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| And just the other day I swear I saw a man there
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| Pulling weeds out of the concrete, sweeping up and patching cracks
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| I saw him lift a rag to wash the years of filth from off those windows
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| Made me wonder if there’s anyone like that for you and me and
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| Anybody else who broke and lost hope |