Where are the bones and the flowers? Where are the shrines to the local gods? They never write now or ring us Whatever happened to the local gods? What are their names? Where do they live now? Where do we go to light a candle to them now? They held the soul of the city The streets were bright with the local gods The days were sweet with their meanings The nights were vivid with the local gods The day they left we never saw their going We woke one morning and the world was less than it had been In the canals and the wastelands Up in the spires, under the flyovers Still you can see, with the right eyes, The shining presence of the local gods Stand in the silence you can hear them whisper Hearing their laughter echo in the steel and stone So leave a fire in the window Pour the wine under the underpass Let's all go down to the river We'll go swimming with the local gods They never died we only lost their number All you can find here worship and more will appear