Singing

These hands hang on to flooded
Window sills
And float with
The bottom of our hapless lives
And all of our unpaid bills
Ride the wave goodbye
Another gospel to
Sing and sing along
But God aint singing this time
He just hasn’t kept good time
And now these hands
Hang onto whispers in
Dark windows
With whiskey and wine
Another after another
And again, again, again
We all stride right up
To that front office
Hoping St. Peter will let us in