apocalypse now slash never slash soon,
bay of the hounds at the sun, at the moon.
here we are now, we’ve arrived at the start line,
living through a prologue tryna know God.
we’ve seen the sullen sky open as the ladder lowered
we’ve felt the angel fire soaking earth a bloody ochre.
heard the son of man drum the land while jezebel,
pretends that every temple built for baal stands and never fell.
samson’s here to tear it down, here’s a jaw bone,
ezekiel’s surrounded by a field of raw bones,
rattling, rattling, all we need is a jar and a torch
to get to battlin, battlin, where’s the retort?
where’s the report from the papers, chanting
four more years, four more years, four more years (lap the word four over the word years)
as the sky scrapers slump in vapors
oh the war torn sphere, our desolated belvedere.
where the help is near but doesn’t arrive, nothing survives...

the sky can crack
and the clouds can mount
and the feet of God
can thunder down
but when he returns
to purge and to burn
we may have already
poured earth in an urn

the sky can crack
and the clouds can mount
and the feet of God
can thunder down
but when he returns
//////we may have already
poured earth in an urn


or maybe not. maybe the world won’t be as hot
as everybody thought, maybe we’ll finally stop
adding meaningless to meaninglessness
meaning that this post king solomon trist will cease to exist,
that the material world with simply unfurl and we’ll condense into pearls
perhaps, uncurl your maps, let’s take a look at the population graphs,
perhaps if somehow this was cut in half
the ocean won’t become a bubble bath,
the drunken world will finally stumble back to it’s original habitat.
imagine that, as a matter’ fact
i’m not a fear monger and i embrace a clean grave
but we’ve all had dreams where the earth is in a green haze
we’ve all read dystopian novels and opened the bottles
and drinken whatever helps us forget that we’re awful.
maybe the machine is a mechanic idol we all need to topple,
maybe elijah’s soaked the firewood in water and it still burns.

burn baby burn
burn baby burn
we all wanna know
when’s it our turn
how will we escape
from out of this foul urn
when are we gonna learn
is God gonna return?

the sky can crack
and the clouds can mount
and the feet of God
can thunder down
but when he returns
to purge and to burn
we may have already
poured earth in an urn