Your walls are made of gold, but the floor is dust and stone

Your altar gleams so brightly, yet the soul feels all alone

Those who bear the heaviest cross don't always find a prayer

For the bread upon your table leaves the heart in deep despair

How many saints forget the ones who linger in the cold

While those who share the little shine with light as pure as gold

Your church is not more sacred than the voice that calls a name

For greater than the prayer is sharing bread with hunger's pain

No bell, no sacred ringing, can erase the cries of need

If faith does not embrace the ones whose broken hearts still bleed

The word may echo loudly, but deaf ears refuse to hear

While heaven's promised treasures leave the poor to disappear

To plant faith in dry soil is to forget what roots must be

For hunger builds a temple where God weeps eternally

How many souls have vanished, waiting for compassion's hand

While marble-clad altars let their sorrows still withstand

Your church is not more sacred than the voice that calls a name

For greater than the prayer is sharing bread with hunger's pain

No bell, no sacred ringing, can erase the cries of need

If faith does not embrace the ones whose broken hearts still bleed

Stone saints will never suffer, but the little ones still weep

While tables overflow, their pleas are buried deep

Today the real miracle is not to multiply the bread

The true divine wonder is to share what keeps us fed

Your church is not more sacred than the voice that calls a name

For greater than the prayer is sharing bread with hunger's pain

No bell, no sacred ringing, can erase the cries of need

If faith does not embrace the ones whose broken hearts still bleed