Around our land many a little chapel are experiencing a renaissance because the economical crunch suddenly reminded the people that God was still there, and they came to pray for help.

From a chapel calling to Sunday's prayer,
a refuge to souls that needs redemption,
summoning all believers...and the others,
the bell sounds like a wailing ghost.

Tiers after tiers with faces full of guilt,
expecting forgiveness for unfaithful thoughts,
yet, wanting something for their prayers
and never feeling the pain nailed on the cross.

There is the bell, the old tower's heart,
like a captive thunder inside the bronze,
giving, of shattering silences, a song...
to the angels, that never heard such a voice.


But at night, when all the shadows come,
where the sounds of that bell go?
Perhaps it keep on ringing and we don't hear
when she's calling in another world.

From a chapel's old tower, calling,
the bell is wailing like a ghost.