Should madness grace me here this night,
I’ll sever pen from this eerie dusk light.
And mark the note, so clear, with angel flight,
To hear the song, of divine and ancient might.
I’ll pause my quill and rest my ears
on a chord that sings, sublime, away my fears.
Through all my hopes and dreams, I’ll fade away with joyful tears
At Heavenly choir, that draws me ever near.
I can see Hell; no more, and now unclear...
My path before me, alit with thoughts and wings.
These songs I hear, from darkened hymns and choral beams;
I am ripped apart at the seams,
by tunes and visions that haunt my dreams,
and visit me upon my waking eyes, dear ‘oh me, I’ve won the prize
A great gift, this maddened pen,
that etches psalms across the minds of men.
And tears from them their slumber deep;
turns them into the humble and the meek.
By grace is given, these haunting visions;
at once they plagued me, now they only visit
and dote upon me wise; greets me with gifts and nevermore demise.
Again, I say, I have won fair prize.
For through the temple did I gaze;
I was wracked and truly dazed,
by wicked voices and thoughts betrayed;
through the mud, my name was hazed.
But now I sit atop a throne;
looking down at all who leered.
I see them quivering with fear.
For this pen, with which I writ,
I have summoned to me
my friends; all of which are well and met,
through this thing we call the Internet.
And by its righteous power,
we have set ourselves upon the Tower.
It rises still, with slowful calm;
I assure you, we’ve the strength of a Bomb.
Tears will run
and blood will flow
from our enemies and those who curse.
Our names will be writ
in golden halls, where Angels sleep
And though our toils; they be deep
We shall know peace
Among the voices that sing us songs so we may Dream
We were meant for visions; and thus we Gleam.