Dear bretheren, I have just left the tabernacle after listening to the latest recording from Brother Thomas Jones. You may remember Brother Jones.....
He was a simple poor Welsh lad from the valleys destined to be a common building tradesman except for a God given gift. He had an extrordinary set of lungs and pipes. He was beguiled by the riches and fornicating these could bring. He drank mightily from both cups and financed the binge at the Soddom capital of Vegas. He could blast a song, he could tame a song all in the manner refered by the sage Reeves as "in a club style". As the years wore on it was a good earner, however as his three score and ten years passed there had to be a reckoning. His son and Brother Holland whispered in his ear, "thou has blasted songs from Swansea to Glastonbury but thou has never given a piece of thy self". Jones thought deep and long, he studied the mighty footsteps left by Reverend Cash. He listened to the last work of Brother Plant and his mighty Welsh heart said to him, "this is good". He got some young minstrels who found cabaret an abomination and worshiped the essence of less is more. They then set to it before the good Lord sounded his trumpet for the last time.
When the work was finished they took it to the Island temple and one of the idiot priests said," That's rubbish, that is. No one will buy hymns!". The congregation knew better however, they knew Brother Jones had given a little piece of himself and it was good.

They did say, "Long may he Rock".

Amen