There was music in the chapel,
a choir of young and tuneful voices.
They were as sweet as Adam’s apple,
they cured the sorrows on our faces.

The organ, playing in concert
with those mellifluous, holy chords,
made my sensations all inert,
and caused my eyes to move upwards.

We then moved to the dining hall
where the feast started with a gong:
some fellows entered from the door,
we sang in phase a latin song.

From there it all blurred out of space;
I felt the spirit of the corpse
while crimson lips were singing Grace.