Ye be wise to dread Consequentia’s lullaby,
While civilizations drown in Chaos unknowing,
Forsaking the Truth for its distortions,
Bending and twisting their own Being with lies,
Falling asleep to Her Melodious Malady.
No One can be blamed when The Lord
Desires His sleep.
The wise remember that He is always awake,
Remaining awake themselves to this dreadful
Song of suffering.
While the faithless forget,
Falling asleep with Him forever,
Under Consequentia’s melancholic melody.
And She sings when She wants,
And He sleeps when He wishes,
It is up to Ye to be wise to remember this
Night’s Touch.
Only the Blackness of Time knows the
Rhythm and Rhyme to Her singing,
Where sometimes even the minds of wise men,
Fade to forget in faith but not fear,
Their own workings in this timeless music,
Remaining right next to their Lord,
Wide awake and healthy,
Yet dreaming in dis-ease,
Of something both Real and Ideal: