A Prediction

One will rise who is too evil.
One will come who is too good.
'Twixt the two, a witch shall falter
And thereby open wide the door.

Pain and suffering as they stumble
Blood and fear before they learn.
Woe betide this Springtime Eden
Now the vale of those who mourn.

Beware the watchers in that hour
Bar the doctors from the house
Scholars will but nourish evil
Scientists would raise it high.

Let the devil speak his story
Let him rouse the angels might
Make the dead come back to witness
Put the alchemists to flight.

Slay the flesh that is not human
Trust to weapons crude and cruel
For, dying on the verge of wisdom,
Tortured souls may seek the light.

Crush the babes who are not children
Show no mercy to the pure
Else shall Eden have no Springtime,
Else shall our kind reign no more.