Clouds gather in rage, their purple flashes of lighting slithering.  hail is coming down, covered with blood.  the white, white harvest is broken down.  deep into the bushes, deep into the harvest, in the darkest shadows, are fericous lions, their golden eyes lust, their claws itching, seeking innoncent flesh.  their muscles, rippling like the ocean, reverbate back and forth their powerful backs.  with every step the lions take, the harvest is broken down.  the hail pounds and pounds on the suffering soil.  in the middle of it all is tower clock, it's proud flag screaming.  a lion is there, roaring on the top of the tower.  it defies the roars of thunder.  it defies the white harvest.  it defies all.  blood is coming down, blood is coming down!  beneath every shadow, beneath every dark place, is a lion.  they are ravenous, so hungry, so thristy.  on their mouths are the blood of the innocent, inside their stomaches is the harvest.  oh, the harvest, how white it was!  now, it is broken down.  now, it is stomped all over.  now, it is eaten by the lions.  

suddenly, suddenly,

every one of the lions let out a deep roar!  they all look into the distance!  

a rider is coming!  a rider is coming!  he has an armor on, his his lions are girded with truth, his breastplate is righteous, his feet are shod with the gospel of peace, and he has a shield of faith!

all the lions are crouching, their eyes of lust set on the rider.  three lions on the left, three lions on the right, they all come closer, they slither through the broken harvest.  it is pounding hail, purple clouds of thunder and lighting come crashing down. 

the rider is coming closer, the rider is coming closer!

the lion with the black eyes, the deepest black, jumps up out of the shadows, roars as a flaming arrow comes out of his mouth.  now, now, every lion is throwing flaming arrows!  the arrows are long and bright, and full of raging fire.  they all shoot forward, every one them, racing to the rider.

tower clock is breaking down!  the walls groan, the windows howl, the stairs crumble.  more and more lions climb on top of it, their weight, their heavy, heavy bodies on the exhausted building.  there are more and more and more lions, more and more and more!  there, here, to your right, to your left!  every one of them is climbing on the building, lions on lions, they are clawing on each other!

the rider is coming closer!  the rider is coming closer!

the flaming arrows are still flying, speeding towards the rider's head, and as they are about to plunge through the horse and the rider, he extinguishes all the flames!  he extinguishes every one of the flaming arrows and with a loud neigh, the horse gallops even harder!  He takes out the sword of the Spirit, it's edges sharp and true, it's point fericous and merciless, its color brilliant and more beautiful than gold, its handle full of precious jewels. 

the lions, the lions, they are coming!  they are coming closer!  they come all around the rider!  they snap their jaws shut, smoke comes out of their noses!  they claw and bite at the horse!

the rider, with his eyes closed, his mouth closed, his hands true and clasped firmly around the sword, lifts the sword upwards.  all the lions hiss, every one of them, they are exposed, they are seen, they are terrified! 

the edge of the sword is thrust in a lion, and another, and one more, and two more, and three more!  they are wounded, the powerful lions are wounded!  yet they still hiss and roar, they still chase the rider! 

oh, the white harvest, how white it was, and how ruined it is!  the harvest, oh the harvest!  the rider stops, the lions stop, it is all quiet, all the scene is quiet.  the hail is still pounding, purple thunder still vibrates, but all the lions are quiet!  the horse is stopped, the rider is on the tired soil. 

he kneels down, and he weeps!