There’s a big temple on Spiritual Street
The grandest of them all.
Crosses and statues will you meet
Stately pillars standing tall.
But within the grand old place
Behind the doors of fancy
There is a whole lot of space
But there’s no singing or dancing.
Inside is a wiry old man
To whom Time has not been kind.
Everything God does he thinks he can
No respect for the Most High.
He goes to him when trouble arises
When all hope is lost.
But he only needs help in crises
He benefit’s all that’s sought.
When things are bright and doing well
The Creator of the temple is forgotten
But that’s only when things are going swell
Ignored is God’s only son begotten.
So the man will die old and grey,
False hope always lingering.
He’ll never be able to truly say
That for Christ is all his singing.
All he will ever have
All he will ever be
Is the empty old temple
Sitting on Spiritual Street.