Sack

Lyrics

They built this nave with winter fleece,
And raised the spire of quarried stone.
I watch my congregation kneel
And hear the settling of the bone.
They do not bow their heads in grace,
They bow because the neck is set.
The lanolin is on their skin,
A heavy, holy, yellow sweat.

Bring it to the iron scale,
Watch the metal counter drop.
It buys the crown a foreign field,
It gives the church a gilded top.
But underneath the canvas seam,
Before the merchant makes his mark,
It is exactly what a man can bear
Before his eyes go dark.

Brother Thomas takes the hook,
He drags the sack up from the dirt.
His hands predict the total sum,
A sudden, calibrated hurt.
The hemp rope slips with blackened fat,
His boots slide out across the board.
He gives his body to the mass
And leaves the balance to the Lord.

Bring it to the iron scale,
Watch the metal counter drop.
It buys the crown a foreign field,
It gives the church a gilded top.
But underneath the canvas seam,
Before the merchant makes his mark,
It is exactly what a man can bear
Before his eyes go dark.

The assize is read, the tax is paid,
The chalice shines, the altar gleams.
But when I offer up the bread
I hear the tearing of the seams.
We weigh the wealth of all the realm
In muscle, cartilage, and lung.
The king demands a steady hand,
To keep the heavy balance hung.

So let us pray for those who haul
The fortunes of the upper air.
The ledger doesn't feel the pull,
The parchment doesn't smell the hair.
The blessing comes, the service ends.
They shuffle out into the street.
The greatest export of the land
Is walking on its own two feet.
God keep the roof from caving in.