Seventy-two now and as mad as they come,
but even so, now on occasion there's a few come and help.
Put a crucifix, a portico just like there is at the white house
but the stain still needs more glass.
I think more of red than I could see anything else.
It's one of the arguments in the caf for small talk of a town.
I'm no engineer they say, I'm no architect they say,
as if they dont already argue enough for
it's such a lonely order that I've taken on my own;
that in a house you helped to build.
I suppose you're guaranteed a room,
how should it matter being better held together?
The rains have proved as onlythey can more for faith than mortar.
I want it left to the diocese
but that idiot that a bishop be so ungrateful,
like it was some dislocated eyesore;
so near and not to see it finished.
The holy college seeks only to adjust it
and put out of place my columns but no,
they wouldn't be found dead helping m dig out the crypt.
I didn't need elevations then.
I'm not looking for them now, not for all the small talk in a town.
Neither sane nor fool enough is the good word going round.
I built the cathedral almost on my own.
It stands in a house you helped to build.
You're guaranteed of a place to be.