Crux Of The Message

It starts as a faint purr, rippling, beckoning
Stealing the evening’s baking heat
It steps to the side, foot tapping, hop skipping
Without formation, no sense of the beat
And then comes the mean, heartrending echo
Low and beguiling, starting the show
The murmur resounding, a tightening of air
As colours emerge, the wind starts to blow
He’s coming, he’s coming
The crux of the message
A silvery swordsman
No mercy to spare
He’ll slice and he’ll sever
With sparkling precision
The weapon his fortune
The dragon, this air
And most run for cover, they know of his venom
The fury with which he will mount his attack
But those with a nerve and bubbling curiosity
Won’t be so hasty to hide or turn back
With a crack of his whip the tears start cascading
Great rivers of truth washing over the land
In praise or in pity, in fear or forgiveness
The thunder is slain, the demon at hand
He’s coming, he’s coming
The crux of the message
A silvery swordsman
No mercy to spare
He’ll slice and he’ll sever
With sparkling precision
The weapon his fortune
The dragon, this air
And the threatening rumble of music soon faded
A great composition now rendered complete
The mottle blue heavens now gather in whispers
To wait for the encore
A black cloudless sheet