The City Moans
(Steven Saint-Urbain)
She felt like she belonged on the cross on Mount Royal
Crucified like a martyr
It was my job to bring her down
Literally in more than one way
I traced the scars she hid behind her saintly veil
And found my own damnation written in her tale
On Mount Royal’s heights, I bowed beneath her crown of thorns
The city moans with every desperate prayer that her sins have borne
Her voice is a psalm that scorches while it tames
And every winter wind cries out her sacred name
She thought she was as holy as Frère André
But was as entitled as Marie Antoinette
I didn’t know if I could fully love her
Without that taste of future regret
I kissed the sin from her lips and swallowed my own shame
Her prayers were just whispers, and I learned every one by name
On Mount Royal’s heights, I bowed beneath her crown of thorns
The city moans with every desperate prayer that her sins have borne
Her voice is a psalm that scorches while it tames
And every winter wind cries out her sacred name
The Saint Lawrence flows with secrets she will never confess
And Montreal heaves under the weight of my regret
I light a candle for her sins that I could not redress
And I whisper to the night the prayers I could not profess
On Mount Royal’s heights, I bowed beneath her crown of thorns
The city moans with every desperate prayer that her sins have borne
Her voice is a psalm that scorches while it tames
And every winter wind cries out her sacred name