This is the church; choking in vines
it’s rotting wood and crooked lines
are blanketed by the silver snow
that lined it many years ago
back in the days when he met me here
back when our hopes were still so bright
when I heard his whispers in my ear
I knew I’d done what’s right

This is the church; with the little path
overgrown with thorns of wrath
where I was when we first met
where my heart was quickly set
on his understanding gaze
on his fateful, callused skin
on his pained and gentle voice
what a blinded fool I’d been

This is the church; with the rusty bell
they rang that day, they rang it well
so black and white folks all would know
love is colorblind, love can grow
despite the evil misconceptions
despite the doubts, despite the lies
as we took our vows their sneers
were stifled by his loving eyes

This is the church; it’s graveyard cries
of last embraces, no goodbyes
of lynching crowds and many tears
that I have shed through lonely years
I see the fire, I see the rope
I see him crying out to me
I curse the merciless leaders there
and beg of them to let him free

This is the church; grey skies above
match my feeling for my love