The silver cord was severed
and the golden bowl was broken,
pouring plagues of hail
and slag and ash
into the skies over our Babylon.
"It is done," the loud voice called
in thund'ring tone as trumpets
sounded tucket for the iron-clad
Jerusalem descending from the sky:
streets of gold as though it were
transparent glass, with cobblestone
and trolley-track showing through.
And he showed me three pure
rivers of water of life.
I heard the voice from heaven say,
"Behold the tabernacle of God is with men,
and He will dwell with them--
and everything is meaningless."
