Humour

I heard a choir singing,
dressed in robes of white,
men and women 
lighting the world 
in the darkest night,
but “The Messiah” 
wasn’t what they had chosen,
and Handel was spinning
in his grave,
they were doing
 the Rolling Stones,
and this thing was a rave,
it was “Sympathy for the Devil,”
and the choirmaster bounced about,
doing his best Mick Jagger,
seeking not to trip on his gown
and have to be carried out,
while the audience,
fueled by Ecstasy,
celebrated
with lighters in the air,
their souls were transported,
they didn’t have a care,
and then it was over,
the revelers, 
instead of filing out,
formed a queue 
at the dressing room door
in hopes of touching 
the Man,
but the Man 
had slipped away
and was on the bus
counting His pay,
and despite the frenzy
of the game
the world
was still out there,
it was still the same.

Chorale