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 gla**
I think more of red than I could see anything else
It's one of the arguments in the cafe
For small talk of a town
I'm no engineer, they say
I'm no architect, they say
As if they don't 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 only they 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 me 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