A little white chapel on a neighborhood street
Stands in a small California city, quite complete
History adorns it from its whitewash to its style
Those who remember most have a ghostly smile

As eyes close or turn inward while they recollect
No one who’s now alive remembers every aspect
Early days tell that it was moved to this location
And pictures of pastors who chose this destination

Protestant, I know, yet I cannot tell where I stand
Perhaps I’ll walk by later, so my story might expand
Even I claim history here, but with its newer partner
A modern church, where I slept on the deck, no fear

This was the first night of more than 15,000 since
My love and I chose to be together then and hence
When we got together, ourselves we hardly knew
Or that our love would last so long, or how it grew