Awaiting Something Holy

 Wander lonely streets with me
Before the risen sun of Sundays
Awaiting something holy  
And watch ones our world forgot as they lie in fitful sleep
Amidst piss filled rivers of intestinal stew
As they twinkle with that all knowing sparkle
That comes before the dawn

Bathe in bitter waters, wipe experience away

So you may walk the fabled halls of memory refreshed
Tell me now, is there any difference between the two?
In both, strangers lie in the fitful sleep of darkened dank doorways
Left to wallow in gifted rivers of piss and puke
That glisten in the crystal light which precedes the dawn
And reflect the secret knowledge

That someone soon will be along
To wash the cobbles clean
Someone to cry out with golden bells
And greet the sun sun as it wakes from a troubled sleep
To shine bright with feeble warmth once more
And soothe a frost nipped nose  
As we await a day that we might still call holy