Call it inspiration from some ancient muse
The spell was broken on that corner pew
As the words of the prophet spoke to you
A last sigh was taken
Unseen and forgotten the Celestial Monarch
Granted reprieve from the stone in your heart
Never the same right from the start
Nothing to do with reason
Of Priest and collector, the story was told
Words of a rabbi from ages old
Spoke of one haughty, conceited, and bold
Another they called a publican
The pharisee it seemed chose to compare
His ritual of fasting and time spent in prayer
Opposed to the changer's pretentious stare
Better off to others forgotten
But the tax collector stood at a distance
Head bowed low in fervent repentance
Convinced of guilt waiting for sentence
Expecting to be not forgiven
When sermon had ended and chapel clear
You knelt all alone eyes full of tears
Have mercy on me dear Lord you declared
Now this my friend is true conversion
