A song about two very different places on the camino de santiago, I stopped in Burgos, a very pious and historical site, and have never left a place feeling so disgusted at people's arrogance and ugliness. I was angry at how unwelcoming and impatient people were, there was very little that felt spiritual or 'religious' for me in Burgos. Then walking on I came to a little albergue, called San Nicolas, it was an ancient church and had welcomed pilgrims since the 12th century. I had planned to keep walking that day but stayed to rest a little and get some water. The welcome there was so wonderful and the people so kind and generous that I stayed. They were Italian hospitaleros of the Dominican order, and in Dominican tradition, they washed the feet of the walkers staying there, and cooked us genuine Italian pizza and shared some cakes which they had bought from a trip to a nearby monastery. I wrote this song that night on the altar, on an acoustic guitar and then set off again the next morning. I didn't play it for a long time, but I went back the next year and stopped there and played the song again, on that same guitar I'd written it on, a year or so before.

An old bell rings,
In an old house,
The fading light creeps in through tiny windows,
Finding a feast unfolding in the dark,

And you wash my feet,
And you lay your lips on broken skin,
Where God and man whisper softly,
And I have never known such a love.

For your God was never in Burgos,
Your God has never seen Notre Dame,
Your God does not run confession sessions in Rome,
Your God, if he exists, calls this his home.