I see a chapel in the wilderness, it stood untouched through the torturous thunder of Passchendaele, and can be seen with more than eyes, when Hell visits this world’s chaos.

When men set their feet on laborious ways of war, and conceive tyrant dreams, dreams that are always imposed on others, the Chapel appears…….

The tide captain plays the eternal harmonica, and the notes of sand and foam play out on the landscape of man, and when the distorted guns break into the ears of children, from man’s unpardonable race, someone, somewhere, will see the Chapel …….

There is always a choice.

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