A Psalm of War. To be shredded or thrashed through the weapons of metal: big amps, warm tubes, Les Paul’s, floor toms, and distorted, 300-watt bass. May the vocals be screamed, worn & torn.
You are my battle axe and my fight fight song.
Come ballistic, unhinged,
Sweet battering ram at the end of the Arm of the Lord.
Blow the trumpet in Zion!
Declare a solemn fast before a sweeping slaughter,
Blow also Thy shofar in my backyard.
Bring it to the home front.
Gather the freedom fighters and the militiamen.
Broken and downcast is our Enemy this day.
He has waged war; he has waged long.
But he could not prevail,
For his war is a plastic-army-men-bucket-and-bb-gun affair
Compared to the vehement wrathforce of the Overpowering Might of El Shaddai.
Where are the schemes and brigandines?
Where is that once fortified wall we washed up against so unvictorious?
Collapsed. Laid low. Routed. Finished.
Horse and rider,
Chariot and bowman…stomped and thoroughly trodden
As helpless little toys with no legs to flee.
You have declared it, Yahweh.
Praise be to the God of Battle,
Who has come to our aid in this day of days,
To pull down strongholds and every wicked, vainglorious—
Foul and malicious imagination that thought it could set itself up against
The LORD of Heaven’s Earthquakes and Glorious Lightnings!
There is no chance for you, the lower-case enemy of our souls.
You have been weighed in the bold balances,
And He has made war against you—open, blistering war.
Ruin will be redefined by this historic event,
Calamity and force too.
Before the great and powerful day in which you are thrown, headlong, from your throne.