Prophecy 1998

Prophecy 1998 ^{©1998 DW GOLD}

There will be wars and rumours of wars
pestilence will destroy many
peace will come only to those in Christ

The north maybe cold
the south maybe sold
under the altar
sinners falter

Into the sun they run and run
taking their clothes they become like one
leaving behind a vicious state
having arrived far too late

A vessel disguised opens every port
consumed with pride men descend below
holding aloft trophies none to show
crying tears as the world blows

Vacant desert all around
few men left to make sound
death dying dead lying 'round
hope gone for good

Dust in the attic
dust in the barn

Slithering through fields unaware
crossing streets combat style
progress halted at midday
humanity dead

Hope for the few dismally gone
a trumpet resounds long and drawn
sections of sky peal away
brightness beyond Christmas day

Prophecy 1998 ©1998 DW GOLD

Prophecy 1998 ^{©1998 DW GOLD}