There's a bleak storm approaching
that hordes the minions of life
draws the nectar of the dreams away
lays us upon our own beds of decay
and watches as the pain suffocates us whole
drowns us into its deep wide belly
Till consumed in our own iniquity we fade away.

The hour of the horsemen approaches
when decades wipe clear their slates
the finger of death unraveled, points to us
and beckons each upon its ride
through the dark frontiers of life
to behold the loss and there our strife
That wipe man from existence.

We shall in councils
where fate weighs down the laws
and time awkward to the understanding
bows to the guillotines block
and becomes no more a passage of man
and wee mere mortals shiver to the sight
that so we bring upon ourselves.

The Earth that spirit rages forth
to decry mans being in her sigh
she points eagerly upon us
shakes her weeping brow
and cries a river of iniquity
the wrongs that men bestow
and took from her blessed womb
The promise of every tomorrow.

Here upon the judgment seat
we weep and cry
Our souls tormented at the moment
awaits the passage bye
Fearful, our bodies convulse
to the horrors that we laid, made
and fainting, fading we disappear
From all that life, existence, held dear.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph