The Wig Behind the Altar (Aspergillum)

Lyrics

[Intro]

[Verse 1]
In the sacristy of Santa Maria Ausiliatrice,
Turin, October 1860,
I found it tucked behind the altar,
a tangle of horsehair and brass,
like a forgotten wig from some saint's disguise.
Father John Bosco, at forty-five,
would dip it in the aspersorium,
engraved with faint roses,
and shake droplets over the boys' heads.
The air cool, fifty-five degrees,
scented with frankincense and damp stone.

[Chorus]
Oh, the aspergillum,
that innocent sprinkler,
sounds so vulgar in the wrong ear,
but it's just holy water's brush.
Asperges me, Domine,
wash me with hyssop,
and I shall be clean.

[Verse 2]
You, little bulb of perforation,
twelve inches of tarnished metal,
bought for five lire in 1853,
from an unnamed blacksmith's forge.
In war times, they'd bind rosemary branches,
herbal scent mingling with the blessings,
swish of water on the floor,
soft as a whisper in the morning Mass.
Father Bosco said, the greatest gift
is a good example,
but you, hidden wig,
you sprinkle the unseen grace.

[Bridge]
Bouba: Behind the velvet curtain,
the tool no one names aloud.
Reverend Goss: Yet it seals the nasopharynx of sin,
prevents the choke of doubt.
Both: In this cigar-room of the soul,
without the cigar,
just the smoke of incense rising.

[Verse 3]
The lay boys cleaned you in silence,
their names lost to the archives,
while the priest wielded you at seven AM,
blessing the congregation,
sharp tang of evaporation,
mixing with wax and wood.
No vehicles carried you far,
but in the hand, you traveled souls.

[Outro]
The wig behind the altar,
innocent as the word itself,
sounds dirty, isn't.