The bitter wicked end is nigh, they say.
The Horsemen ride to waste humanity.
Winter's dire breath blew spring away,
Enshrouding all in cold depravity.
Their eyes are glazed; they weep and grope.
Their final strongholds crumbled in the storm,
The vengeful wolves have slain their fragile hope,
And their dreams now glut the maw of sightless worm.
My woes are many, but I'm fearful not.
I've seen a beauty that assuages pain.
The warmth of humanity is not forgot
So long as this, a spark, remain:
The world is dark; compassion is the light.
Hold dear the ones you love; drive back the night.

I swim a fearful tidal wave and struggle as it builds a swell
Of orange, fuchsia, on a ripe-red sunrise sea.
I think I hear the music of a young and ancient mystery,
While the water tugs my caked mud shell.
In the warméd arms, the richly tainted water
The accumulated filth begins to peel away,
And my exposéd skin so trembles in the sight of day,
But I'm held fast and gentle by the sky and ocean's daughter.
An ice cold fear grasps hard my heart,
And doubt plants weeds within my brain.
I fear of this majestic sea, that I may be swallowed, and die.
But my greater fear is not knowing my secret part,
That a greater reward is worth this pain.
And so I spread my arms out wide, and free within this ocean's deeps, I fly.