f r o z e n - v o d k a v6.11 | ||
24 March 2006 || Inside the heartache of a fool | ||
So I'm about to go to bed, and a song came on my party shuffle. Now, I'm not sure if I'm religious, but something about this moment, this time that I'm hearing the song, that makes me really hear it. Frightening. And moving. Seriously. For some reason, yet undiscovered by me, I'm crying... And I heard as it were the noise of thunder / One of the four beasts saying come and see and I saw / And behold a white horse There's a man going around taking names / and he decides who to free and who to blame / everybody won't be treated all the same / there'll be a golden ladder reaching down / when the man comes around The hairs on your arm will stand up / at the terror in each sip and each sup / will you partake of that last offered cup? / or disappear into the potter's ground / when the man comes around Hear the trumpets hear the pipers / one hundred million angels singing / multitudes are marching to the big kettle drum / voices calling and voices crying / some are born and some are dying / it's alpha and omega's kingdom come / and the whirlwind is in the thorn trees / the virgins are all trimming their wicks / the whirlwind is in the thorn trees / it's hard for thee to kick against the pricks Till Armageddon no shalom no shalom / then the father hen will call his chickens home / the wise men will bow down before the throne / and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns / when the man comes around Whoever is unjust let him be unjust still / whoever is righteous let him be righteous still / whoever is filthy let him be filthy still / listen to the words long written down / When the man comes around Hear the trumpets hear the pipers / one hundred million angels singing / multitudes are marching to the big kettle drum / voices calling and voices crying / some are born and some are dying / it's alpha and omega's kingdom come / and the whirlwind is in the thorn trees / the virgins are all trimming their wicks / the whirlwind is in the thorn trees / it's hard for thee to kick against the pricks / in measured hundredweight and penny pound and I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts / and I looked, and behold, a pale horse and his name that sat on him was death / and hell followed with him I'm not sure how I feel now that my shuffle has moved on to something lighter and unrelated. The original feeling of awe and fear has passed, but still, something is there. << || >> |
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