The vigil kept by Fog Horn’s people
Daily, nightly they go out
To worship in the weather’s steeple
And trace the veins of the clouds
Like an atlas, a weather map of the skies
And if by mishap, or kismet
The conditions combine
Temperature, humidity, wind direction, tides
To create that fog belt, that blanket
These souls so devout to their religion
Express their faith and reveal their vision
So that others may see though with blinded eyes
And as if a miracle had occurred those who were lost are found
Those who were blind can see with their ears
Hear through the mouths that tiredly yawn
A benediction and blessing that horn sound
As clear as the Sun’s first rays through the darkness before dawn
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