The thread bare plans of Earthly kings rise and fall like an unending sea.
Brewing, festering in the hands of a turbulent lot.
For there hands can not defile what the Lord has made clean.
Seeking no good they crave spilled blood.
But little does it matter to the Lord with the Tapestry of His hand.
Colored bright with the lives and light of his redeemed
He weaves them tight in His Tapestry to be seen.
She sails away from the thundering of wars of the unkind.
Leaving there colorless gray days behind.
With angelic winds on weary souls.
We sail away to His other shore
As the sail of His banner stands so high
Unfurled by His breath, the finest tapestry for His kind.
Looking up, bits of white displayed on the cobalt blue skies.
A horizon of unending colors.
He has summoned us to be seen with our eyes.
As we follow the hope, we follow the dreams.
We follow this promises of things yet unseen.
As we slice this sea powered by angel wings.
In a wordless Tapestry for all to be seen.
For the things of the past matter no more.
As the kings of unkind things and lords of darker powers
Are taken to be seen no more.
For the blood they have spilled.
They must now give an account.
For as they have planted, they shall soon reap.
The scythe shall swing.
The account will be measured.
In full, in full
The Chalice of wrath has gathered.