A great flock of crows is staining the sky.
The winds of millennial plagues blow by.
In the far eastern war, many men die.
Is this a sign of the Antichrist's birth?
Apocalyptic omens of the earth
that foreshadow Christ's imminent return?
The globe is pregnant with a pain so deep
the imperial dreamer gets no sleep
and in his own chest feels the world's heartbeat.
Torturers plagued the earth with their ideals.
Humans drown in what a dark pool conceals:
three Greek syllables that hatred reveals.
Oh, Lord Jesus, what are you waiting for?
Extend your hand of light over the hordes
and make your holy banners shine once more.
Show yourself right now and pour life's essence
over souls gone mad without your presence,
who forgot your dawn in their dark offense.
Come, Lord, and make manifest your glories.
Make stars tremble, cast your calamities,
bridge the abyss with your love and your peace.
Let your visionary white horse renew
us and let the divine trumpets sound, too.
My heart will burn like incense within you.