The Nails from the Hands of Christ - Strawbs

The old church doors were open

She walked in stone alone

Standing by the altar

She checked her mobile phone

Her parents left together

They upped and passed away

They left her with their vinyl

She played albums every day

She looked up at an icon

A young man on a cross

He looked just like Bruce Springsteen

He could have been the Boss

The window in the chapel

Was some kind of a rose

The ancient smell of incense

Was getting up her nose

She walked off down the old canal

Tracing footprints of the dead

«What the hell is Jesus?»

A graffiti slogan read

She found a junk shop bargain

Competitively priced

He told her they were kosher

The nails from the hands of Christ

The nails were bent and rusty

As if to make a point

She looked them up on Google

And rolled herself a joint

She didn’t see the young man

Quiet before the fire

He looked on in bewilderment

As the music took her higher

He danced the nails around the room

Her endearing poltergeist

He placed them in her bedside drawer

The nails from the hands of Christ

People make excuses

In the innocence of youth

To all intents and purposes

We all disguise the truth

She hunted high and low

To find her precious nails

A guilt lives on within us all

When everything else fails

She thought of all the many things

Her parents sacrificed

In her heart she holds her treasure

The nails from the hands of Christ