Old jealousies delight, licking red, red lips
A wicked spirit closes round these finger tips
And Old Sins subjugate without reconciliation
Open veins flow seeking no rehabilitation
Soundless prayers fall on fractured religions
A storied howl wells within the chest
No morality tames these decisions
The madness disturbed from ITS rest
Will we drink to Victory?
Under these hallowed trees?
Your hollow eyes belie your trepidation
Will you choose the knife over tribulation?
The trumpet calls
All banners shall fall
The last ringing of the bells
The running storm will not be quelled
Complicit in this heralded doom
Apathy, is not absolving of guilt
Like innocence cut from a burdened womb
Four horses ride, Swords ringing from hilt…