In the midst of ruin there is reparation
In the midst of ruin there is life.
God, he must work at the corner catalogue shop
The one before “Afterlife” next to “Hope & despair”
With Liberty bell ringing counter ringing in both ears
God, he must be hoping our overdrafts clear.
In the midst of ruin there is salvation.
God, he must work at a downtown liqueur store
One where we can purchase more insolvency
Before closing times guilty serrated edges
Passes us by like a 70% off pair of sunglasses.
In the midst of ruin there is forgiveness.
God, he must work at the local fashion shop
Or even a quiet Nero’s café where street urchins,
With ruddy blue eyes, cries, blow their noses
On their second hand, hand me-down-clothes.
In the midst of ruin there is reparation.
God, he must work as a bookie on lost causes
Maybe he’s working for free at the local charity
Because I know I can see he’s been working on me
For what has felt to me like an eternity.
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