Cindy Lee stands before the backboned studio

running to the front of the canopy
singing “oh, whales of romance”
the talkist dolphin takes to the side studio
truth and noblemen come calling
the track is where the hammered clips
profile the best kept patterns,
1950s psychedelia lofi creates wakes of land
crashing on hills and walking grass back to sand,
for contemporary love, in adjoining stations
broadcast to sisters and brothers of spirit walks,
still a manor of compassion under you
is nothing but gloss under the flames
Diamond Jubilee should stir the counties
of Pittsburgh passion plays hours so soft