S ong of Woe
The fifth angel’s trumpet has sounded, Abaddon has fallen from heaven And unto him was given the key to the abyss The sky which once shone clean and clear, thick black darkness filled the atmosphere Even the sun was choked from smoke of the abyss Woe, Woe Stinging locusts were released, make a man wanna die but death just seems to flee Breastplates of iron with lion’s teeth from the abyss Woe, Woe Wings with the sound of chariots, tails that pierce like scorpions Power to torment men for five months from the abyss Woe, Woe And just when you think that it is done, one woe down, but surely two to come Angel, the sixth speaks a sickening sound, “Release the four angels Euphrates-bound” Bound until the appointed time, bound to kill a third of mankind Fire and smoke and brimstone plague rained upon the human slain And even after all of these things, the idols they worshiped they kept worshiping The sinners would not confess their sins, and turn away from their wickedness The hearts of men are growing cold, like Pharaoh and Egypt in the days of old History tends to repeat itself I’m told