The Language of the Locusts from the Sea
As my Soul is my bride to my body
As Christ is the Bride to our Soul
I dreamed that my Soul has departed
A dream whispered in our sleep
The awakened ponders the unforgotten
The sleeping slumbers on
Make peace with your Maker
Tread softly but surely
Sands of time is eroding
A sword held to the side
A bag of coins deadens the pain
Come, wine and dine… the day is short
The truth is bitter
Trumps the bearer of the sword
The victor beats his chest and shouts at the gates of the city
But the mind is of the world
And the sword strengthen by an army
The feast of the flesh beckons
How many more will stay
From the soil comes oil, the wood rots
Tears of the innocent brides rain the earth
The simpleton will pay the price
When the mountains disappear into the seas
Swamps of locust consumes the feast
If the faithful refuses to bow
Sacrifice is never in vain
Gold is refined in the fires
Pain is but a fleeing moment
Sleep is eternal, come swiftly… my Bride
The faithful shall be restored.
No comments:
Post a Comment