I've seen The Nimbus grow, on the horizon
Eyes of the wicked above
The heathens are deprived of the knowledge
Disciples are the only ones to know

The seeds of disaster fall from the skies above
The storm, they seek their master
The hand can hold the blade, the dying fall
Those who pray voive a futile call

The horse of war is saddled, death is riding
Rabid dogs are chasing there in tow
And covering the earth, this world of dying
A lake of ink to swallow every soul

Sacrament of the sick