I hear it in a minstrel wind, it's crying out the tuneOf a prophet's only hope to tell the worldHe wrote down it on parchment, but alas no one believesOf the vision only one man could conceive
He knows it's true

Will the people have the ears to hear or will they turn their headsAnd blind their eyes to the truth once againHow is it that you know the season's changing by the leavesBut still you do not know that summer's near?
It's near
So many teachers preach a lie to the sheep who need a guideThey need a God that they can touch and seeBut only if your faith is strong and hope for the unseenYou'll find peace amongst the tragedy
Woe to those who hear notWoe to souls who've been boughtOh, it's written on the pageWoe to those who fear notWoe to souls who've been boughtYou don't see the ending of the age
You wandered throught the wilderness for forty years or moreTo lead you to the promised land, promised years beforeYet still you bowed down to a calf you made with your own handsHave you still not learned a thing, the wickedness of man
And oh, hands up to the skyAnd oh, the angel passes by
One bowl for the wickedOne bowl for the seaOne bowl for the riversMen screamed in agonyThe sun will then be darkenedThe moon will give no lightThe earthquakes will shake up the earthThe terror in the night
And oh, hands up to the skyAnd oh, watch the beast begin to rise
Remember what I've told youRemember what you've seenAnd tell the human race just what it means