Vinyl Pews

We bring in our patrons with a neon light

Service begins the moment the sun dims

 

We testify through burning cigarettes

Hymns stutter out of lips soaked in gin  

 

We collect payment from a basket dusted by broken shells

Confessions slip between the counter and a bartender's whim

 

We search for God after the empty glass hits the felt table

Last call comes with a broken bell 

 

We slide from the vinyl pews with our eyes on another dawn 

The doors close, but we'll be back with pockets full of sin