by Nick Gisburne
A storm, a seething tempest, strikes the sky
Untamed annihilation fills the bay
The peasants, on their knees, prepare to die
Expecting this, for them, is Judgement Day
What miracle of man can turn aside
The surging storm of fury from this place?
No mercy, no escape, nowhere to hide
And all must meet their maker, face to face
But now, a silent, perfect point of peace
As if the sky itself is pulled apart
The wretched sinners, weeping for release
Believe the hand of God protects their heart
In moments they are pounded into paste
For this was Mother Nature that they faced
