The hairs on your arm will stand up. At the terror in each sip and each sup. Will you partake of that last offered cup, or disappear into the potter’s ground? When the Man comes around.
Hear the trumpets, hear the pipers. One hundred million angels singing. Multitudes are marching to the big kettle drum. Voices calling, voices crying. Some are born, and some are dying. It’s Alpha and Omega’s kingdom come.
Johnny Cash, “The Man Comes Around,” American IV: The Man Comes Around (2002).
