Stained-glass sunrise drip on my face,
Sunday ghosts still spinning in the bass.
Crimson choir hums through the vinyl crack,
I’m baptized in the key of black.
Daniel’s halo bends like a vinyl groove,
Tyler’s psalms paint pews in vermilion move.
We float, rose-water saints in a drop-top ark,
blessing every broken heart left in the dark.
Chroma drip—let the color restart.