We see great cities, polished and tall.
The wretched gather together, forever at a loss.
The arenas grow louder, their floors soaked crimson,
as anthems trumpet for star spangled banners,
crowds jeer and pride glistens,
while merchants count coin at everyone's expenses.

See now they celebrate death, oh so civilized,
they worship the image, now so despotic.
Their tombs polished marble, but with rot inside.

The comfortable ones sit on cushioned seats,
adorned with crosses and such proper attire,
soft spoke to a whisper, not a quibble to be heard.
Hands soft and bellies fat, who would speak against such things?

These chains of comfort they would call blessings,
they choose Caesar by day but the gospel by night,
joyous at the approval of Babylon but callous to Christ.

Who was it that overturned tables of ornamental churches,
who cried out in the wilderness night after night?
Who then spread the Gospel from east to west,
always persecuted but never lost?
Certainly you know of them.

From the stones he gave rise to the Children of Abraham,
he declared with fire.
Those who seek comfort in this world,
surely perish in the next.
The passionate few martyred for their convenience,
oh a glory awaits them.
When the soft fall silent his warriors will speak,
not for themselves but for those who stand accused.

The Kingdom belongs to the children of the Most High,
not those soaked with comforts.
Those whose lives are counted in service to him,
those who would worship, they will know eternity.

The days are now, when the crowds scream for crucifixion.
Will you be found faithful, or will you be found comforted?

Listen now those who call his name:
The arenas will fill again, but his Kingdom shall never know failure,
and his Gospel shall never be silenced.

The King of Kings and the Lord of Lords shall come.

"Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life." - Revelation 2:10