seven billion
archangels
play the music
of creation
on violins
and bass saxophones

it has been written
what our end
will be

not how it would feel
searing pain
glorious agony

the liars
in polyester cassocks
ask

have you lamented

we are nothing
but flaws

not an excuse
for you to reap

only the reapers
allowed
unlike you
they reap for harvest

and unlike the priests
the madmen in the streets
will have the last laugh

when god descends
for our
ascendance

the seraphs held in their hands the fires of life

holy
holy
holy