10 August 2012
Up in the midst of Wales, Hidden in the trees, Lies the ruins of a worship Brought falling to its' knees.
Burned to dust and ashes, Victim of religious hate, Black singed and tinged and broken, And crumbling to date.
No one knows who timbered The fire that haunts the ivy. No one's been there since, The burnt- out church that's by me.
Churched • Opuss № I