How strange it is
That this blue moon
Should rise
A full blood red
It seems to me
This moon cries out
To souls everliving,
And those not dead.
"Come!" she calls. "Listen to me!
Hearken, and hear my cry!
Wait not until the day is come;
The time swiftly passes by!"
How strange it is
That men ask for signs
Signs which
They then ignore
But soon shall come
The time foretold
When forth,
Heaven's army shall pour.
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