Glass, Color, Gray skies, Cold,
What would it take for time to unfold?
How far back would I have to go,
To escape the mass of bodies in rows?
Glass, Color, Gray skies, Cold,
Did you really shelter the Kings of old?
What a change from the few elite prayers, To overwhelmed tourists crowding your stairs.
Glass, Color, Gray skies, Cold,
Mons Sainte Chapelle, my prayers too will you hold?