• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 11
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Angel of the Apocalypse

They call me the angel of the apocalypse
My music taking wing
Singing its song of the end of days
In the choking, smoking smog

The notes singe my fingers
Fire the strings with a melody
Burn harp and heart
As the inferno embraces us
In its amber cloak
Swallowing us whole
Sucking oxygen from lungs
And hope from prayers

I played when each seal was broken
Softened the blow of what was to come
A gentleness of death
And I will play on
Until no one hears
This perpetual canon
This perpetual mourning
This last sung song