They burned the sugarcane down by the hollow,

The smoke climbed like a hymn to the sky.

Mama’s tears stained the hem of her Sunday dress,

Praying to a God who never replies.

All the stars are gone,

Ashes fall like snow.

The world is quiet now,

But I feel it in my bones.

Take me to the chapel of smoke,

Where the air is heavy and the memories choke.

Let me lay in the pews of a forgotten name,

Bury my sins in the red clay and rain.

The ghost of a hymn floats through the cornfields,

A child’s voice, thin as spider silk.

I follow it down to the edge of the water,

Where the past lies heavy, dark, and still.

Beneath the earth, the roots are calling,

Pulling me closer with every breath.

A requiem played by the cicadas,

Sings the hymn of my living death.

Take me to the chapel of smoke,

Where the air is heavy and the memories choke.

Let me lay in the pews of a forgotten name,

Bury my sins in the red clay and rain.

Down by the hollow, where the fires burn low,

A prayer for the lost in the chapel of smoke.

Take me to the chapel of smoke,

Where the air is heavy and the memories choke.

Let me lay in the pews of a forgotten name,

Bury my sins in the red clay and rain.

Down by the hollow, where the fires burn low,

A prayer for the lost in the chapel of smoke