Scalo A Grado

I had a layover in Grado
on Easter Sunday
People were rushing through the streets, heading to church
The air thick with incense
On the walls, the stations of the cross
People pretending to be deep in thought, waiting for absolution of their sins
My style is old
like Titian's house
in Pieve di Cadore
In my blood, there's no water
but bile that can heal you
We light up immensely
showing a bit of our tongues
to the priest giving the host
You feel like you're in heaven
singing the psalms
a little off-key