One Ancient Measure

One Ancient Measure I rise with an effort known only to those who follow in comfort their subjective goals using one ancient measure the dead piled in rows and there lies a treasure that only God knows the deep roar of thunder in riotous rhythm explodes from on high lighting under the flood of the rain on the roads the dead and the living are walking together with righteous regard in their eyes and their timber-toned talking is mixed with their tortueous cries war is more than the hell you pass through below and above dripping blood after blood apocalyptic visions of the darkest new are due a septic condition for one's own revisionist flood