A hail of the sixth trumpet of the day of the Lord |
Horses of Armageddon Hurry the maps, direct the call for the horses of Armageddon to start their fall Make way the trail unto their stall Be it building, pasture, city or hall Be it mother, father or children small Hide in a crevice or a crack A year, month, day and hour if you’re able to keep track To count salt grains of water and food black and mourn for the days when you look back and knew the prophet’s tomes were quack The lions roar when they raise their head Like swarming locusts hungry for battle they’ll be led with their teeth sharpened for a third, dead As blazing torches they’ll race ahead As hundred pound bricks till earth is fed Who is the one that can tame this hoard These fierce horses of pestilence coming from the Lord Who can stand with a shield or a sword To demand they take a bit and chord To make them obey and turn toward Hide in a cistern or a grave With whatever arrogance of power you might save With all accomplishments you might rave In the pure and righteous alms you gave In the pleadings of repent you wave Armies launch their missiles of course But two hundred million stallions cull their source They’ve no fear of battle and laugh at force For flaming arrows have no remorse For stampeding herds heed no recourse Hide in a fortress or a tank Maybe the buzzard will fear your stature and swank Maybe worms will serve under your rank For His fire burns from front, back and flank For His smoke swallows the hope you drank Scientists try but they can’t explain Why their prophets on mountains didn’t see the plain To even know of its birth is vain By thought, theory or computer chain By their math, physics or quantum gain Jasmine horses flung upon the coast bright with reigns of Jesus and saddles of Holy Ghost harnessed by the Father of the host As plagues of messengers without boast As plagues of trumpets and woes that post Hide from their wrath like Egypt of old when their first born died to free His children from their fold For this herd of stars, as scrolls unfold Will free the earth from its sinful hold Will free the truth from what Egypt sold Soon, like all servants, horses will rest Prancing, playing in green pastures, eating of the best For, of all creatures, they’re most blessed To bare the heavenly host coalesced To bare the King of Kings and His crest In the brightness of His glory for the reaping of His harvest |