I saw a dream of fire and iron branding faces soul of I, and specters rising up like the Northern Lights. While word is spread of mental pollution, masked hoods burning crosses at dawn, and I the dreamer fading, nearly gone.

A good man gathers gear and a rifle heading for a moment of truth, and federal guard troops clashed with the local thugs, while broken ethnic romeo soldiers busting out their songs of hope, go fading out like so many lightning bugs.

The crimson tide…
drowning the quick…
bury the doomed,
but oh, how life goes on,
and flow with the tide…
pirates and saints… all to comply,
and clouds are weeping welcome from the sky.

I heard a leader’s lackey nay a plan of creeping bloodless coup, while terror craftsmen blend into the walls. And those who act will feed the legations, with a pure and steady hand, and hearts of stone will be the ones to stand. I dreamt a good man man drove his assault team only justice to defend, a waiting posse for the bordello. And gathered mobs proclaim solidarity with the pure and spotless blood, and Hell jerked, belching fire from down below.

The crimson tide…
drowning the quick…
bury the doomed,
but oh, how life goes on,
and flow with the tide…
pirates and saints… all to comply,
and stars are weeping welcome from the sky.

A mob descends on armchair conspirators mess of mental sickness to clean and I the dreamer rose up to lead the band, of outcasts raising voices bound to set intention to stone, while merchants steal the brass of their own. And those who dread the end of excitement… no more bullets no more bombs… go on to see how dark the night can get. I saw a good man level his rifle forcing death to reconcile and face the tide of blood feud and regret.

The crimson tide…
drowning the quick…
bury the doomed,
but oh, how life goes on,
and flow with the tide…
pirates and saints… all to comply,
and God is weeping welcome from the sky.

God is weeping welcome in reply