A round around and above all, the three thieves thought theft; From the crust they rise, with the night they left; and the angel's cries, were among the rest. Feast and fire, they have to know, big baloons being blown below. Stand so, sand, stance, surround some, choices, challenges can cause to come; A hilt in the eye, a mighty frown, for merries might mean man's moan. Its been sleeping for too long, rested sound in its cozy contorts; So far it has closed its eyes, but now its time for them to rise. Nursing in their hollow dunes, those grains of timeless adventures; Scorpions of sand shall rise again, and the angel's cries shall, but refrain. Feast and fire, thou cast to frown, evil in the heart, the deepest shown. And the skies will rumble, and the earth shall tremble, With the angel's cries, they open their eyes, but its too late, its time for the wicked to rise.
