The world spins round,

The oceans lose their life,

While the moon shades to red.

A crucifix lies bloodied, in the gutter.

Mothers weep, holy men pray,

But the sparrows sing no more,

For silence reigns supreme,

In the empty Hall of Souls.

Virgin Mary's cry tears of blood,

Mountains spew forth fire.

Deserts suddenly whitened,

With bitter snows of winter.

Whilst somewhere high above,

In the rumbling tormented sky,

Of deepest darkest black,

Four men on horses, ride out.......

Copyright @ Dave Jacobs 2002