He will come bearing glad tidings
He will come promising perpetual pleasure
He will come with trifles and trinkets
He will come offering artifices of oneness

Give heed, oh my sons.
The time draws near when
He will come with the clouds
But why do you sleep?

Do you not see the sign of the times?
Does the world not seem as an imitation upon imitation?
Do you not hear the whispers of the Great Spirit calling?
And do not the murmurs from below not disturb your silence?

The walls are falling
The waters are rising
There is no dry land
There is no shelter from the storm.

But upon the rock must you stand,
giving not sleep to your eyes,
nor slumber to your eyelids,
nor rest to your temples.

Until you find a place for He who Is.
For He will come with the sound of the trumpet,
But if you are not attentive you will be burnt up,
for no man shall hide himself from his heat.

Before that day, which no man nor angel shall know,
there will be a pretender to the throne.
He will put on a spectacular show and gifting to his audience,
to each an illusion of unity yet in truth, alone.

Saying “Such rest and sleep has man not known,
Enraptured, would he leave given the choice?
Such love and ectasy can he now call his own,
hence only to the siren call will he rejoice”

Yet you are not so helpless and lost as he had said
Guard your heart lest it be held captive.
Wake up, O sleeper, and arise from the dead.
Light shall shine upon you, then shall you live.