One Sunday night, I sat on a hill.

The air was warm, but the skies were chill.

The world trembled; the seas, they churned.

The angels screamed, the night the stars burned.

The day the sun went down for the last time.

The day the heavens fell for a past time.

No one looked up to watch the skies.

No one was there to see them die.

And I wish I could say it was a dream.

But I was there when the angels screamed.

The skies were awash in red and gold.

The scene left black marks on my soul.

Streaks of silver filled the air.

Blues exploded in a flare.

Clouds burst and ice fell in sheets.

Fire bloomed and seared the air with heat.

Time stopped turning, the world froze.

That apocalyptic night, we broke.

And, how I wish... I could say it was a dream.

But I, I was there, when the angels screamed.