TEN MILLION TONGUES
Angels have big mouths and loud speakers. They talk in ten million tongues and in ten billion words. There are moments and there is anguish, there are drums and there are trumpets. The skies hear and the skies stumble. There are watchers everywhere. They have eyes that sparkle, then diminish. To be here at the end of days, to be here at the end of all days, is a task and a psalm. Angels sing the psalm, they stand up in their tiresome robes and sing the psalm ten trillion times and more. We are the empty vessels of engineered ecstasy, filled up with sections of manufactured joy and pleasure. It should be up to us to sing praises, to raise trumpets, to bang drums, and to clash cymbals...but we don't, or we can't, or we won't. So we leave it to those damned angels and their ten million tongues, we leave it to them and their ten billion words, and we leave it to them to sing the psalm to end all our days, ten trillion times and more.
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