​Wake me when the Rapture comes,
wake me at the breaking of the seventh seal.
When evil has been chased from the world,
the Hounds of Hell on its heels.

Dutifully I swallowed the pills,
washed them down with Sleepytime tea.
Now the demons I once dreamed of
stalk this so-called reality.

Turning back the hands of time
restoring order in God’s name.
Surely these inmates don’t run the asylum,
for clearly they are all insane.

Like spoiled children demanding their way,
temper tantrums, and pouting.
An Escher drawing we call Gridlock
no one listening, everyone shouting.

Suffer the world to come unto this
after all the progress that was made.
Let me sleep until the Rapture comes,
I can’t take any more of this today.

So wake me when this death passes over,
and I can smell salvation in the air.
Until then I’ll just dream of tomorrow,
while you bicker over a yesterday
both irrelevant and never there.

M. Zane McClellan

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