Spring forth the End of Days,
So obvious to our eyes,
Repentant souls may buy some time
But not a ticket out.
Blind me not to foreign wars,
Nor the victims there plenty,
By repugnant men the snowball rolls
Down hills of blood and chain mail.
"Blood and chain mail," says the Lord,
"Adorns the path you tread,
The living, the dead and the unconcerned
Await an absent king."
The living, the dead and the unconcerned
Await an absent king.
Copyright 2012 by Andrew T. Durham
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