Pieta (La Piccola) - Wire

Doubting Thomas parks his car in his Sunday best

Taps his wallet, straightens tie, lights a cigarette

Pilgrim’s progress, no journey’s end

Which way Michael?

Through the door he scans the bar, then a space appears

His drink is poured, for he is numb, the service it starts here

He sees it in the barmaid’s face, a winning smile’s caress

A million eyes in public stalk, the queue up to confess

Lost causes, loves, hates and shames, old battles fought and won

Bad debts, bad tips, the graveyard song, the dreamers talk in tongues

Haloes swarm, the air is thin, thick smoke in tights of blue

Elvis has a wooden heart, eyes dart across the room

Empty heads and stomachs full, the ashtrays overflow

Drinks are raised and voices praise good deeds of long ago

He drains his glass and makes a sign, the Virgin Queen appears

The Prince King needs a tender touch, his sacred heart knows no fear

Upon a cloud on optic shrine, he can’t control his tears

On his knees, hands held in prayer, a practice lapsed for years

The altar clears, the light grows dim, the sanctus bell is rung

A miracle at closing time, our lady holds her son

The faithful come to celebrate the vision Thomas saw

A rail now stands around the spot where Thomas kissed the floor

Amen