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Terzij de Horde
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The Roots of Doomsday Anxiety
Cry out for the king
To bring salvation from the plague
Cry out for the king
To bring the cleansing flame
And build the new Jerusalem
The king is the cause of the plague
We capsize, overwhelmed
By cascading oedipal revelations
Jocasta's feet have finally left the ground
Fissures running all the way down
Our sacred visions of Apocalypse
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Epic comic-book escape fantasies
We are conveniently unworthy
Lull our budding concerns to sleep
And every doomsday tragedy
Ends with a place in eternity
The Delphic oracle grows fat
On self-fulfilling prophecies
And the Ark of the Covenant
Holds a pair of golden brooches
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