Seven Angels, Seven Trumpets

And when the lamb opened the seventh seal,
there was in Heaven a silence.
Seven angels, seven trumpets,
preparing to sound.
God has sent his punishment over us.
We shall all perish
in the blackest death.

Know that this can be your final hour. Death stands behind you.
I can see the crown of his head gleam in the Sun.

His scythe flashes when he raises it behind your heads.
Who among you will he strike first?

Hail and fire, mingled with blood.
The greatest of stars is about to fall.

Before evening, will your mouth be distorted into a last unfinished yawn?
Like open-mouthed cattle, blooming with appetite and lust for life.
Have you got a year or an hour left
to pollute the Earth with your debris?
Angels descend, graves open.
It's the Angel of Death passing by