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