The moon is amber tonight
The happy yellow
I used to color it with crayons
Tainted with the blood red of Revelations
Past turns to future
And the present is lost in the onrush of time

Wars and rumors of wars
What good can come from them?
There must be a reason
There must be a purpose to the killing
Is there?

The trumpets of war are blown
The fluttering of dark wings is heard
And a child cries out in the night

A dream wakes me
A plague, a sickness, spreading over the earth
Coming, coming
Inescapable
Was it a dream?

A plague of hate, of fear
A sickness of the soul
Is worse than that of the body

Maybe it's inevitable
But I will continue to hate it
Maybe we must fight
But I will grieve the dead just the same

Diana's sallow face
Looks down sadly at the world
The imperfect glowing circle
Will mourn with me tonight