Tin can leans on basement stair
Saxophone exhales through cracked veneer
Water stains map constellations there
Blue notes bend toward something near
Alto hums where hymnals used to steer
Fingers trace the rust's rough frontier
Rust reflects the midnight set
Jazz club basement won't forget
Watering can catches it yet
Holy light in tin silhouette
Choir kid sings the old debt
Every note a prayer met
Copper spout catches purple haze
Drum brush sweeps the wooden floor
Light fractures in a thousand ways
Hymnal memory opens door
Breath held in the solo's praise
Rust sings what the psalms wrote before
Patina glows in smoke and gin
Trumpet cries through ventilation grate
Sacred geometry begins
Where sacred songs manipulate
Alto voice lets the chorus in
Tin becomes a holy plate
Rust reflects the midnight set
Jazz club basement won't forget
Watering can catches it yet
Holy light in tin silhouette
Choir kid sings the old debt
Every note a prayer met
No stained glass, just brick and wire
But grace still finds the corroded spire
Each drop a note in smoky choir
Rust and rhythm, salt and fire
Set list ends but light remains
Watering can holds the final chord
Reflection breaks in windowpanes
Choir kid walks toward the door
Carries hymn in calloused hands
Tin can gospel, Chicago stars
Rust reflects the midnight set
Jazz club basement won't forget
Watering can catches it yet
Holy light in tin silhouette
Choir kid sings the old debt
Every note a prayer met
Rust reflects the midnight set
Tin can gospel, not done yet
