When the hot cleansing fire of God's heavens descended,
The sparks flew, and everyone ran;
The bright holy flame consumed cities like paper
As the sky burned a sullen red gold,
The anguished screams blending with the murmur of prayer
To the music of God's final rage.

The streets ran with chaos, pagans cried out in rage,
As some of the faithful descended
Into to the cool earth, to take refuge in prayer;
Down soot-blackened cheeks their frightened tears ran,
While they fingered their rosaries and their crosses of gold
And they whispered from throats dry as paper.

The warnings of end times had been run in the paper
Among stories of hate, crime, and rage,
And the ones who claimed morals much purer than gold
Plumbed the depths which our world had descended.
It was not too surprising they were the first ones who ran
When God's fire put lie to their prayer.

The fire rose up like the grandest of prayer
Though it passed over God's books of paper.
So much faster than deer or the cheetah it ran,
With the clean grace of God's purest rage.
Roaring flames like the voices of angels descended,
The bright sparks a treasure of gold.

In the streets molten metal and glass glowed like gold
With the heat of the ultimate prayer;
As the Last Age of Man died, the fire descended
His history burning like paper.
Since the man known as Noah, men had not seen His rage
Now, before it, the strongest ones ran.

There I stood and I watched, although everyone ran
Knowing faith like a core made of gold
And I saw in the beauty of God's endless rage
The perfection of infinite prayer.
A breeze lifted up ashes thinner than paper
Making black snowdrifts when they descended.

The angels descended on wings spun of gold
To them I ran, and one heeded my prayer;
His wings thin as paper, we rose up from God's rage.