Or when the Sun fails to burn,
When blood seeps from the butter churn,
Will I believe in Armageddon.
When rivers dry and crops are dead,
And when I hear inside my head
The sullen cry of global dread,
Will I believe in Armageddon.
Until this time will I believe
In what is mine and never leave
The power of music, Biblos too,
The only ones to pull me through.
