She comes and goes through the golden door
Like the gentle wind on a child’s tuft of hair
One moment she is singing with a nuns refrain
The other she is chanting like a run away train

No visible seams as far as the eyes can see
Just a multicolored coat wearing her like a fit 
Her faith is finely stitched just like a slip stitch
God has no trouble finding her among the rich

She awakens at the sight of a Red Cathedral Light
And feels sedated by the blueness of her quiet church
Yet she prefers to sit alone like an Oracle saluting a temple
For it is there that her soul suddenly begins to tremble