We awake at the call
unfortold fears await in the fall
my instinct tells me,
doom and destruction
is the new gloom.

Thunderstorm of plague,
the stench of death,
the screeches of danger without aid
has become the terror,
that awaits us in loom

The world is on a track to deadlock
man's ingenuity lies in waylay
to be trodden by the most undefeated.
Men of science seem foiled.
The entire world has become
shamelessly hopeless.

We remember the uncreated Creator
He who created all things created
voices are lifted from caves of affliction
in hope that once more
sanctity of the world is restored and
sanity of the mind regained.

Papyrus