Some have crosses

Bells that ring

Most have angels

painted with wings Old ones and blonde ones

can find their way in

got statues, apostles,

and other godly things In deserts they build em

of mortar and clay

In barios they stick em

by fire escapes They outlast the setbacks

earthquakes and plagues

They burn them like haystacks

and another one is raised in the backwoods of the country

in the Empire State

wherever theres somebody

at the crossroads that waits The junction of right now

and a little too late

see one before you

with wide open gates Its a hospital for sinners

aint no museum for saints Could be a casket

and bums on the steps

a baby in a basket

being left Its a good place to shuffle

when youve gone through the deck

Its the closest to heaven

on earth you can get Itll shelter a poor man

and humble the great

derelicts and outlaws

can hide for a day The worst hearts youve known

can be salvation saved

in the same room that lovers

vows are exchanged Its a hospital of sinners

aint no museum for saints Youll sing till you drop

then ask to be saved

Well, if its a comeback you want

then get your hands raised Theres more than a few

on nearly every map

more than a couple

alone on this path You want to be in one

you beg your way back

cut off at the knees

and its feet still collapse hospital of sinners

aint no museum of saints Its a hospital of sinners

aint no museum of saints