I am approaching the golden accent, rising toward the light
Every sin forgiven, every feeling feeling right
The voice that calls me upward is a soft and gentle sound
It's got a bit of an accent, a Belgian, I've found (Ahh!)

They said that when you're leaving there's a tunnel and a glow
I'm told you see your whole life flash, but mine is rather slow
I'm weightless, I'm forgiven, and my trousers feel quite cold
But glory has its sacrifices, so I've been told
Below me, by the water, sits a cat I think I know
His name means "angel of death," and he's in no rush to go
He glances up, a doorman with a very long list
I wave. I'm sure I'm on it. He is less than convinced (Hello!)

Higher, higher, past the weather
Past the worry, past the tether
Every ascension is just sitting down
In the wrong place, with confidence

I am approaching the golden accent, rising toward the light
Every sin forgiven, every feeling feeling right
The voice that calls me upward is a soft and gentle sound
It's got a bit of an accent, a Belgian, I've found (Ahh!)

The light has got an accent that I can almost place
It says "Pardon," and "Allo," with a very gentle grace
The angels all have flashlights, which I find a little odd
And the harp is a bit crackly, like a radio, by God
I've left my worries, and my wallet, and, I think, my shoes
There's a rumor of a puddle, but I'm choosing not to choose
Heaven is a little damp, but I won't make a fuss
It's the thought that counts, and the thought is only us (Mm!)

The light is warm. The light is close
I can almost hear my name
It says it twice, politely, and it's almost like it's bored
Almost

I have arrived at the golden accent, I'm bathing in the light
It's speaking to me gently, and it's perfectly polite
It says, "Pardon, monsieur, I'm the ranger, with a torch"
"You are sitting in a puddle, not a heavenly porch" (Oh)

It's about three apples deep, if that helps