Hullaloo 2000 Poem by micheal udenyi

Make restitution, conffess your sins
the time, the year, oh the day is left but an hour unit
with 1999 gone, would you go with Him in powerful scenes?
or simply watch the century's juxtaposed knit.

Run, scream, the omens of centural tide comes
when religion, tradition and culture cannot bind
flee to the graves or hopefully to the cross
fearful images evoked in my mind

Of the Son, or the beastly sphinxy satyr?
tell the king ''the Book is true, for events converge''.
the master's return is no satyr
and the ghostly saints were too quick to diverge

We have but less than half hour to the end opf time
in times like this no two things ever would rhyme
all heart ache, properties sold to whoever differs
ten minutes left, fearful images continues to interfer

What is this from beneath the earth and seas?
mightily striding with a giogantic thud
my God! is he in the company of bees?
woe to the inhabitants of the earth your abode is in mud

A sign, a symbol or an angered ghost?
carrying everything but yet so light
all's not well with the world's new centural year of boast
from its belly gush flood of water fire and wind in their might

Where unto doth he tend?
call the diviners this to interprete
and men of all knowledge to provide a mend
oh no! these are but mere mortals and counterfeit

Call in the prophets in their usual red
since the men in white are no where to be found
all gone with wind to bliss while i was still in bed?
tell the earth, the world's doom is profound

The time is up. its new year and century but same old time
all is here no outside i mean in the world
where is the beastly man that bore a waring sword
ah! imaginations! even the eager gone saints are all back with time.