The whore, of the apocalypse,
Has fallen,
The avenging armies,
Advance, in the darkness of night,
Watched her mighty walls,
Crumble, before daylight,
As the brilliant rising, of the sun,
Blest the heavens,
Before its loveliness.

Death, she cursed upon herself,
Fighting to meaningless ends,
Not twitching an eye,
Unholy souls skirmishing,
Like bands of marauders,
Disturbing the peace,
In the hideous shadows,
Where the Reaper rules,
Within the crevasses,
Of the dark unknown.

Let the fallen armies,
Of the whore,
Bend, break and forge,
From thier collected weapons,
Of destruction,
Into plows,
To purify the soil,
She bled upon,
Let her citizens, plunder,
Her spoils.

By: William Bonilla
3/10/03