This song addresses the life size plaster figure of the crucified Christ
kept in a glass sarcophagus as tourists visit the Basilica of Our Lady of
the Angels, Cartoga, Costa Rica.
Whispers drift above the stone,
the amber light and relic bone,
where lies a broken man in state
that mortals fear and devils hate.
Though just a statue under glass,
will your torment never pass?
Don’t you long for light and air
and can you feel it when we stare?
Plaster Jesus under glass,
do you mind the camera flash?
Can you hear our cultures clash?
Some pay you homage,
some… pay cash.
Who will mind your wandering flocks,
while sleeping in this crystal box,
that neither ages nor restores
as mountains fall and oceans roar?
Can you roll the stone again?
Is your mind still sharp as then?
I am frightened by the dream
that you might wake and I’ll be seen!
Plaster Jesus under glass,
do you mind the camera flash?
Can you hear our cultures clash?
Some pay you homage,
some… pay cash.
So light the candles, toll the bell.
Fill the pipes and hear them swell!
Throw the incense on the coals and
don the silk that’s trimmed in gold.
Roll the busses into town,
and gather all the tourists round
to see the wonders man has made
and watch the local people pray!
Plaster Jesus under glass,
do you mind the camera flash?
Can you hear our cultures clash?
Some pay you homage,
some… pay cash.
Can you see them from your case,
as the pilgrims fill this place
bearing gifts they can’t afford,
while pleading mercy from their Lord?
Most of all then, can you tell
who throws silver in the well,
and who throws pebbles there instead
but to keep their children fed?
Plaster Jesus under glass,
do you mind the camera flash?
Can you hear our cultures clash?
Some pay you homage,
some… pay cash.