The world shall be cleansed, bathing in the tears of angels.
The world down below falters under beating silver rain,
As the sun ceases to radiate, Earth ceases to create.
There will be no lament for the fallen, when even the pious lose hope.
In the hours of despair the just will suffer underneath the empty skies.
Wickedness takes hold and corrupts even the purest
Light fades to black – no longer grey.
Pour down the onslaught of divine creation,
Shower and batter us until our souls are purified by
the angel’s lamentation.