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lyrics: J. Morse © 1984 High above the street Bell's chime issues forth Announcing the start of mass Out in the courtyard The destitute and poor Ask charity from those who pass The golden light of dawn's arrival Strikes a chord and soon departs But those who suffer poverty Are empty within their hearts Alms for me, some charity Have pity on me, please? As I stand by the Lord's right hand Saint Catherine sees Stomach rumbles, throat is dry I can't face anyone I need food, and I need a drink Have mercy on thy son Nothing can be claimed by me Nothing can my blind eyes see But I can hear them crying out They know not what they've done The smell of death, sickly sweet Floating on an eastern breeze Rats and vermin under feet Flies and worms and biting fleas On the wings of an endless dream The misguided hordes still cry As the world is shrouded in milky steam A prayer and a sigh Alms for me, some charity Have pity on me, please? As I stand by the Lord's right hand Saint Catherine sees Disbelievers say "You're foolish anyway To seek out your protection from the sky I don't see why you pray To one who'll never play The role of one who truly rules on high Your saints and martyred souls Who play supporting roles Are worthless, their reality a lie." But when they see the coals Of hell's abysmal holes They'll want to postpone their turn to die And as they kneel in fear With their eyes reflecting fear They wish to change the verdict, how they try But the lightning soon will sear The prince of death is here To take them to his ever-flaming pyre And as the hand is waved Saint Catharine's will be saved Thanks to all the souls who chose to cry. . . Alms for me, some charity Have pity on me, please? As I stand by the Lord's right hand Saint Catherine sees |