Signs of violent times only vigilants and locust-dieted diviners hight
Lines of hopeless grim-eyed people queueing outside
Seeking any light-leaking idea of what’s divine
The most unrighteous portend to charitable piety
Gospels proven timeless, updated for modern climes
Brazenly committing violent crimes, the wicked march triumphal
Expressing now their once-idle umbrage
The blood the blood, the rush the flood; the veins the vines
A rusted windvane spins when the dim King arrives
Prideful by dint of his dim gold
Thriving by dint of thinned tribe
Thinner and thinner as if they had refused dinner
In these testing, trying times.
Alchemisland 
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