Sounding The Seventh Trumpet (2001) "Breaking Their Hold"

[Reprinted as written by Avenged Sevenfold]

When you see them coming in form.
And they say they do what's best for you.
Fighting for one total control.
They are planned and organized for you.
Breaking their hold. Breaking their hold of control they strive.
To keep you down, behind your back, the time has come, the end is near.
It's when you sleep, so late at night, and in the light, getting prepared.
It's not to help you, but help their cause, under one system, you wont exist.
They are the few, with all the power, our system screams, we can't let them tear our hearts out.
Screaming, pulling on our pride. Stand together for the right cause, one system to our demise

Who are they in this poem?

Are they overly controlling parents, seeking to force their son or daughter to fulfill the parents' dreams at the expense of their own?

Are they representative of the supra culture which formulates the life path of "acceptable," looking and acting, and voting a certain way?

Are they the school system, which inculcates each new batch of children not only with knowledge, but a particular worldview?

Are they representative of religion, where the form is all important, but the insides are hollow?

Are they the rule makers and rule enforcers, who crush the poet and his friends into a certain mold?

One thing is sure, this piece is about refusing to allow the deadening affect that can happen when a a person is institutionalized. Protect your personal boundaries, and refuse to conform to the demands of society, the corporation, the culture. Make a contract with yourself to be true to yourself, to who you are. Check your thoughts and actions against your own internal, personal code.

The poet cries out for individuality, not one system that grinds all people to its own shape.

Unity is not the same as conformity. Unity, at the heart of community, is about many different kinds of people cooperating with each other in love. The apostle Paul likened this to the complexity of a living body,

I want you to think about how all this makes you more significant, not less. A body isn't just a single part blown up into something huge. It's all the different-but-similar parts arranged and functioning together. If Foot said, "I'm not elegant like Hand, embellished with rings; I guess I don't belong to this body," would that make it so? If Ear said, "I'm not beautiful like Eye, limpid and expressive; I don't deserve a place on the head," would you want to remove it from the body? If the body was all eye, how could it hear? If all ear, how could it smell? As it is, we see that God has carefully placed each part of the body right where he wanted it.

But I also want you to think about how this keeps your significance from getting blown up into self-importance. For no matter how significant you are, it is only because of what you are a part of. An enormous eye or a gigantic hand wouldn't be a body, but a monster. What we have is one body with many parts, each its proper size and in its proper place. No part is important on its own. Can you imagine Eye telling Hand, "Get lost; I don't need you"? Or, Head telling Foot, "You're fired; your job has been phased out"?

As a matter of fact, in practice it works the other way—the "lower" the part, the more basic, and therefore necessary. You can live without an eye, for instance, but not without a stomach. When it's a part of your own body you are concerned with, it makes no difference whether the part is visible or clothed, higher or lower. You give it dignity and honor just as it is, without comparisons. If anything, you have more concern for the lower parts than the higher. If you had to choose, wouldn't you prefer good digestion to full-bodied hair?

The way God designed our bodies is a model for understanding our lives together as a church: every part dependent on every other part, the parts we mention and the parts we don't, the parts we see and the parts we don't. If one part hurts, every other part is involved in the hurt, and in the healing. If one part flourishes, every other part enters into the exuberance.

You are Christ's body—that's who you are! You must never forget this. Only as you accept your part of that body does your "part" mean anything. You're familiar with some of the parts that God has formed in his church, which is his "body"...

But it's obvious by now, isn't it, that Christ's church is a complete Body and not a gigantic, unidimensional Part?

In fact, a rock band is a vibrant example of this principle. Each player has a vital part, the band reels without even just one of its members. Together they create something bigger than the sum of their individual contributions. This is beautiful community that institutions so often try to mimic and recreate, but fail terribly. Community is alive, it's organic.

Institutions are often not alive, they are usually mechanical.

we can't let them tear our hearts out.

[the institution the poet was writing about was breaking free from parents and gaining control over one's life]

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Sounding The Seventh Trumpet (2001) "Epic Of Time Wasted"

[Reprinted as written by Avenged Sevenfold]

So much time I've wasted.
I can truly say I never thought it would come to this.
Never would I doubt you, but the truth kept smacking me in the face.
Reality. You never stopped to think and you ripped us apart.
How could you? Now our time is gone but it's still breaking my heart.
Tears run down as I think of the days we've had, and the memories will last forever,
but you and I have died and gone our separate ways.
You are the one.
You are the wrong one.
Breaking the mold.
Going your own way.
All I feel, betrayal.
So much time I've wasted, and I never thought it'd come to this.
Apology.
We had something great, then it was washed away.
We had something more, then I can explain.
I'm sorry. No! We had something great, then it was washed away.
No! Not all friendships last, the genuine are harder to take.
No! Time to start again, hope someday you'll think of me.
No! The end reality, I know someday I'll think of you.

Maybe this is the poet's dialogue with himself. Maybe he is singing to the the one who was, but is no longer, the love of his life. Filled with sorrow, masked by a bravado that is intended to cover and protect the vulnerability of his broken heart, he sings of the beauty of love which is now shredded by betrayal. As king David once sorrowed over in his own song of lament,

Even my close friend in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted his heel against me

At the end of this poem two voices sing, one is plaintive, mourning what has been lost, the other is angry and defiant.

Sometimes it feels like this. Anyone who has ever gone through the heart wrenching ending of a meaningful relationship, certain that this person was the one, where the love was genuine, understands the pathos of this poem. The poet's muse was not who he trusted her to be.

Never would I doubt you, but the truth kept smacking me in the face.
Reality.

We don't know his part in this breakup, but we do sense that it is she who initiated the parting. His lover abandons him. Unthinkingly, she has broken the mold of their union to go her own way, betraying the trust he had put in her faithfulness to him.

And now we know who the two voices are. She gives him her apology, she tries to justify her faithlessness, she encourages him to start over. And all he can cry out, scalded to the bone, is "No!"

The ancient prophet Ezekiel also tells a story of love, union and betrayal

When you were born, no one cut you loose from your mother or washed your body. No one rubbed your skin with salt and olive oil, and wrapped you in warm blankets. Not one person loved you enough to do any of these things, and no one even felt sorry for you. You were despised, thrown into a field, and forgotten. I saw you lying there, rolling around in your own blood, and I couldn't let you die. I took care of you, like someone caring for a tender, young plant. You grew up to be a beautiful young woman with perfect breasts and long hair, but you were still naked.

When I saw you again, you were old enough to have sex. So I covered your naked body with my own robe. Then I solemnly promised that you would belong to me and that I, the LORD God, would take care of you. I washed the blood off you and rubbed your skin with olive oil. I gave you the finest clothes and the most expensive robes, as well as sandals made from the best leather.

I gave you bracelets, a necklace, a ring for your nose, some earrings, and a beautiful crown. Your jewelry was gold and silver, and your clothes were made of only the finest material and embroidered linen. Your bread was baked from fine flour, and you ate honey and olive oil. You were as beautiful as a queen, and everyone on earth knew it. I, the LORD God, had helped you become a lovely young woman.

You learned that you were attractive enough to have any man you wanted, so you offered yourself to every passerby.

You made shrines for yourself and decorated them with some of your clothes. That's where you took your visitors to have sex with them. These things should never have happened! You made idols out of the gold and silver jewelry I gave you, then you sinned by worshiping those idols. You dressed them in the clothes you got from me, and you offered them the olive oil and incense I gave you. I supplied you with fine flour, olive oil, and honey, but you sacrificed it all as offerings to please those idols.

I, the LORD God, watched this happen. But you did something even worse than that--you sacrificed your own children to those idols! You slaughtered my children, so you could offer them as sacrifices. You were so busy sinning and being a prostitute that you refused to think about the days when you were young and were rolling around naked in your own blood...

Even God knows what it is to have a broken heart. Having made Himself vulnerable to love and be loved, He knows what it is to let someone into His inward being, to give someone the keys to His heart, and yet to be rejected and betrayed by the one He loves.

Yet even here, God holds out both of His arms and cries,

You deserve to be punished, because you broke your promises and ignored our agreement. But I remember the agreement I made with you when you were young, and so I will make you a promise that will last forever...

I will keep this solemn promise, and you will know that I am the LORD. I will forgive you...

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Sounding The Seventh Trumpet (2001) "Warmness On The Soul"

[Reprinted as written by Avenged Sevenfold]

Your hazel green tint eyes watching every move I make.
And that feeling of doubt, it's erased.
I'll never feel alone again with you by my side.
You're the one, and in you I confide. And we have gone through good and bad times.
But your unconditional love was always on my mind.
You've been there from the start for me.
And your loves always been true as can be.
I give my heart to you.
I give my heart, cause nothing can compare in this world to you.

In all these songs, so far, I see a spiritual layer. Whether or not the poet intended these meanings is a good question -- and yet artists understand that truly good art carries its freight in meaning. It carries the artist's voice, yet it is expansive enough to resonate with many voices and many meanings. Good art speaks to you.

There is no question that these lyrics carry Biblical imagery, and the poets themselves freely admit to that. Yet tucked in amongst heavy laden poems of anguish and anger is this warm and sensuous gem of love.

Is there a hidden meaning in finding unconditional love, and a deep union of hearts, between cries of rage and betrayal, between the torn souls of those who fear they are damned yet long for redemption from the One under whose wrath they defiantly choose to remain?

All of us long to be truly known and loved, all of us long for the faithfulness of someone who will always be there for us, who will always be on our side, who will love us at our filthiest, who will forgive us every time, who will believe the best in us and defend us to the end. The lover of our soul, that's who we want.

Who loves you like that? Who do you love like that?

None of us is capable of it without help. Supernatural help.

[Many believe this song was written by Matt (M Shadow) for his long term girlfriend: Valary Di Benedetto, whom he's been dating since the 6th grade

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Sounding The Seventh Trumpet (2001) "Lips Of Deceit"

[Reprinted as written by Avenged Sevenfold]

The mark I breathe on you.
It's burning through your soul.
The breath I waste.
Losing control.
I bleed in pain.
Testing what I know.
Lips soaked in deceit.
Pull me from here.
No one s innocent.
So why do I feel bad?
But guilt keeps creeping, creeping up on me.
Guilt. Tearing me up inside.
The innocent.
An evil in disguise.
The face of beauty to fall for.
I fall to my knees, deceitful.
Brought down by feelings of regret.
Again your mind has failed the test.
Not everyone feels the same.
Pacifist blinded by the game.
Stand tall. They'll break your heart.
Stand tall. They'll smash your ego.
Stand tall. They'll tear you down.
Stand tall. Scar your soul.
Break your thought.
F**k your mind.
The mark I breathe on you.
It s burning through your soul.
The breath I waste.
Losing control.
I bleed in pain.
Testing what I know.
Lips soaked in deceit.
Pull me from this hole.

As in many of his poems, there are layers of meaning. The poet finds someone beautiful and seemingly innocent, yet that is a disguise for the evil hidden inside. This person is able to break his heart, smash his ego, tear him down and scar his soul. There are lies on both sides of this relationship, in the poet's mind. He expected purity, but he got deceit. Now he is retaliating.

Who is this person? Is it the poet's lover? His muse? His ideal?

In keeping with the theme of this album, there is the screaming rage, yet a sense of anguish along with the anger. There is evil disguised as innocence, worshiping love that is not really what it seems to be, and the poet derides himself for his own deceitful lips, he understands that his words have such power they will burn through another's soul, and I get the sense that he's talking from experience. Words are like that, they do burn, as Jesus' brother James once commented,

It takes only a spark to start a forest fire! The tongue is like a spark. It is an evil power that dirties the rest of the body and sets a person's entire life on fire with flames that come from hell itself. All kinds of animals, birds, reptiles, and sea creatures can be tamed and have been tamed. But our tongues get out of control. They are restless and evil, and always spreading deadly poison.

My dear friends, with our tongues we speak both praises and curses. We praise our Lord and Father, and we curse people who were created to be like God, and this isn't right. Can clean water and dirty water both flow from the same spring? Can a fig tree produce olives or a grapevine produce figs? Does fresh water come from a well full of salt water?

He knows what he's doing, and he's doing it anyway, he's testing what he knows. Some part of him doesn't want to do this, he wants to be rescued. Does that get him off the hook? He's sure wishing it could -- nobody's innocent, this is how the world is, so why does he feel guilty about it? The inner struggle hurts, and he can sense a loss of control over his words and actions.

He's a liar, and he knows it. But what would happen if he admitted it to somebody else besides himself? What if he were to admit that it's a life habit of his, to be deceitful?

And who is he lying to that makes him so uncomfortable about lying? Is it his muse, in the next song in this set? What would she think of his words of love, if she knew that lies come from the same mouth?

[The poet was writing about the truth that what you sow you will reap]

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Sounding The Seventh Trumpet (2001) "We Come Out At Night"

[Reprinted as written by Avenged Sevenfold]

Black and gray clouds willow in the balance as the sun falls.
Rain plays a heart warming tune, on the pavement.
Emotions stir.
A feeling of warmness, compassion, fullness, I feel at home.
Disguised by surroundings.
As the torn and left in the gutter seek vengeance on their mistreated lives.
As the torn and left in the cold, seek vengeance on mistreated lives.
A silhouette stands still.
A cactus on a warm summer night.
But the rain falls cold and the moon shines bright.
Black as night.
Cold as ice.
Warm as home.
Ready to live.
Stars they shoot.
In a clear.
Across the sky.
As does my time.
Waiting, wanting, feeling, emotion.
Crying, breaking, loving, nothing.
Clouds swallow the moon, and I'm alone, thinking good times, and why'd they go?
Falling down, breaking down parts of me.
F**k. I need this place to get away from you.

The poet sings in two voices, one of anguished and defiant fury, the other in a melancholy sorrow. He is both torn and left in the gutter, and also the cactus, with drops of rain catching the moonbeams on its tines.

The California desert at dusk is both a beautiful and desolate scape, and it's here that the poet invites us to be still and "empathically" experience both sides of his emotion.

He feels at home here, where all is quiet. Something about it warms his soul as he gazes with a sense of anticipation, desire and hope. But alongside the hope comes a sense of helpless rage, for what he longs for is also the source of his pain.

Jeremiah, famous for his song "Lamentations," also found himself in this strange place of longing, yet feeling betrayed

See, O LORD, how distressed I am!
I am in torment within,
and in my heart I am disturbed,
for I have been most rebellious.
Outside, the sword bereaves;
inside, there is only death.

People have heard my groaning,
but there is no one to comfort me...

He [God] attacked like an enemy
with a bow and arrows,
killing our loved ones.
He has burned to the ground
the homes on Mount Zion. The Lord was like an enemy!
He left Israel in ruins
with its palaces
and fortresses destroyed,
and with everyone in Judah
moaning and weeping.

The night, the desert, the lookout point where the poet has parked his car to sit and ponder, the moon and spring rain, this is a tranquil place. Who has he retreated from? Who is a he trying to get away from? Because even here, this person is somehow present, the poet has brought Him with him.

[This song was written about a creature of the night. Some might say a vampire, but others would go deeper and say someone who has embraced the darkness]

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Sounding The Seventh Trumpet (2001) "Art Of Subconscious Illusion"

[Reprinted as written by Avenged Sevenfold]

A living nightmare, asleep but still aware.
The endless torture.
The painless pleasure.
I grasp myself.
Trying to regain control.
I experience and learn.
In another faction of my mind.
So confused.
But everything makes perfect sense.
Can't feel the pain.
Emotional pain s so much deadlier.
Lost, you've just been raped.
Pain. Your friends can't help you.
Why wont they help you? Another reality.
This can't be happening.
Why is this happening?
Who the f**k are you?
Who the f**k. Are you?
Trying hard to figure out what s done.
I scramble but now I run.
The images in my head.
All the problems that I've been fed.
Punching slowly my mind can't change the speed.
As my victims bleed.
No matter what I do or how hard I try.
I can t use my abilities.
Use my abilities.
Art of Illusion.
My razor sharp knife s edge, pierces my victim's body.
But I can't take their soul.
Punching through jello, stabbing not killing.
Disappointment. Discomfort.

The poet has invited us into his inner world, a confusing place where two realities have an uneasy coexistence. In the one reality lives his friends, those who love him. In the other reality is his inner torture, where dark memories make him quiver in pain, and yet there is pleasure too. As he relives each traumatic scene, he tries to rewrite the past, but he can't. His victims (those who have hurt him? People he has himself hurt? The memories themselves?) don't die, they are like jello. His now more mature abilities to cope and conquer don't work in these scenes from the past.

There are inner voices at work here, sometimes accusing, sometimes needling -- why won't his friends help him? His friends can't help him, he's too far gone.

Emotional pain is much deadlier than physical pain. Jesus speaks to those who bring Him the baggage of their past, and their pain, saying

If you are tired from carrying heavy burdens, come to me and I will give you rest. Take the [teaching] I give you. Put it on your shoulders [like a yoke] and learn from me. I am gentle and humble, and you will find rest.

For those who take Jesus' at His word, He does an amazing thing. He heals you from the inside out, all the filth that others left in you, all the awful things they put inside you, even rape, even molestation, abuse, neglect, the breaking of your heart, all the crushing that some of us have endured, it all gets cleaned away.

And the stuff you did, those memories that, like an aching tooth, won't stop hurting, all that dark and terrible burden, is taken away. The apostles John and Peter both talk about it in their letters. They had a lot to be cleaned up in their lives. But Jesus did it. John said

If we claim that we're free of sin, we're only fooling ourselves. A claim like that is errant nonsense. On the other hand, if we admit our sins—make a clean breast of them—he won't let us down; he'll be true to himself. He'll forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing [our own, and others' scars left on us].

The apostle Paul talked about the other way, the way of Judas. Another of Jesus' disciples, Judas decided he was too far gone, so he didn't bring his pain to Jesus. He didn't believe Jesus could help him. He committed suicide instead. Paul warned,

Distress that drives us to God does that. It turns us around. It gets us back in the way of salvation. We never regret that kind of pain. But those who let distress drive them away from God are full of regrets, end up on a deathbed of regrets.

Which way will this poet turn?

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Sounding The Seventh Trumpet (2001) "Darkness Surrounding"

[Reprinted as written by Avenged Sevenfold]

Darkness coats us.
The smell of fall.
Changing season.
The graveyard is alive, black cat across my path,
the chill of cold wind, the breath of the dead.
Imprisoned souls.
Trapped for eternity.
Black crows break the silence.
The garden of the dead s alive tonight and you can't stop it.
Just enjoy it.
Open up your mind and you will feel it too.
The sound, the touch, the thoughts, that you've been so blind to.
You can feel the thoughts of the dead.
Feeling the thoughts of the dead.
True or false, it's still there, teaching me.
True or false, still there, teaching me.
You can feel it tonight.
The wood has rotted away.
Take the time absorb it.
Their time is slipping away.
Stone all carved by hand.
Statues that resemble their faces.
They still breathe.
Come join us.
Smell the burning ember's, night flickering away.
Timeless but soon gone.
Timeless but soon gone.
I can find myself, alone with just my thoughts.
As time crumbles away.
As I crumble away.

The poet paints a rich picture, using all the senses, of a dark autumn night, in which we sense the stirring of the dead. Life is illustrated in the movement of the black cat, breath in the chill wind, death in the smell of fall (which is also the word used to describe sin), cries in the crows.

The poet opens himself to receive the full, sensual experience of the imprisoned souls waiting for the end of time, thinking their thoughts. The rotted wood of crumbling caskets becomes the crumbling of the poet's sense of self, merging with the sibillant whispers of the dead, as he too awaits the end of time.

What exactly is "the seventh trumpet", the title of this song cycle? The answer is found in the last book of the Bible, written by the apostle John. In it he describes a spectacular vision about the future, the end of the world, actually. Using the vocabulary and culture of his day, he struggles to find the words and concepts that could adequately convey what was happening before his eyes.

One image he used was the sounding of trumpets, rich with symbolism in anciet Israel. God's voice was likened to the trumpet. The priests announced the holy feasts with blasts from the sacred ram's horns. God presented His holy covenant with His people to the tune of angel trumpets and so again God's word became flesh in a little known hamlet to the fanfare of an angelic brass ensemble. And so it will be at the end of the world, the end of time as we know it: there will be trumpets.

The trumpets are introduced in the eighth chapter of Revelation:

I noticed that the seven angels who stood before God were each given a trumpet...The seven angels now got ready to blow their trumpets.

When the first angel blew his trumpet, hail and fire mixed with blood were thrown down on the earth. A third of the earth, a third of the trees, and a third of all green plants were burned.

When the second angel blew his trumpet, something like a great fiery mountain was thrown into the sea. A third of the sea turned to blood, a third of the living creatures in the sea died, and a third of the ships were destroyed.

When the third angel blew his trumpet, a great star fell from heaven. It was burning like a torch, and it fell on a third of the rivers and on a third of the springs of water. The name of the star was Bitter, and a third of the water turned bitter. Many people died because the water was so bitter.

When the fourth angel blew his trumpet, a third of the sun, a third of the moon, and a third of the stars were struck. They each lost a third of their light. So during a third of the day there was no light, and a third of the night was also without light.

Then I looked and saw a lone eagle flying across the sky. It was shouting, "Trouble, trouble, trouble to everyone who lives on earth! The other three angels are now going to blow their trumpets."

When the fifth angel blew his trumpet, I saw a star fall from the sky to earth. It was given the key to the tunnel that leads down to the deep pit. As it opened the tunnel, smoke poured out like the smoke of a great furnace. The sun and the air turned dark because of the smoke. 3Locusts came out of the smoke and covered the earth. They were given the same power that scorpions have.

The locusts were told not to harm the grass on the earth or any plant or any tree. They were to punish only those people who did not have God's mark on their foreheads. The locusts were allowed to make them suffer for five months, but not to kill them. The suffering they caused was like the sting of a scorpion. In those days people will want to die, but they will not be able to. They will hope for death, but it will escape from them.

These locusts looked like horses ready for battle. On their heads they wore something like gold crowns, and they had human faces. Their hair was like a woman's long hair, and their teeth were like those of a lion. On their chests they wore armor made of iron.

Their wings roared like an army of horse-drawn chariots rushing into battle. Their tails were like a scorpion's tail with a stinger that had the power to hurt someone for five months. Their king was the angel in charge of the deep pit. In Hebrew his name was Abaddon, and in Greek it was Apollyon. The first horrible thing has now happened! But wait. Two more horrible things will happen soon.

Then the sixth angel blew his trumpet. I heard a voice speak from the four corners of the gold altar that stands in the presence of God. The voice spoke to this angel and said, "Release the four angels who are tied up beside the great Euphrates River." The four angels had been prepared for this very hour and day and month and year. Now they were set free to kill a third of all people.

By listening, I could tell there were more than two hundred million of these war horses. In my vision their riders wore fiery-red, dark-blue, and yellow armor on their chests. The heads of the horses looked like lions, with fire and smoke and sulfur coming out of their mouths. One-third of all people were killed by the three terrible troubles caused by the fire, the smoke, and the sulfur. The horses had powerful mouths, and their tails were like poisonous snakes that bite and hurt.

The people who lived through these terrible troubles did not turn away from the idols they had made, and they did not stop worshiping demons. They kept on worshiping idols that were made of gold, silver, bronze, stone, and wood. Not one of these idols could see, hear, or walk. No one stopped murdering or practicing witchcraft or being immoral or stealing...

At the sound of the seventh trumpet, loud voices were heard in heaven. They said,

"Now the kingdom
of this world
belongs to our Lord
and to his Chosen One!
And he will rule
forever and ever!"

Then the twenty-four elders, who were seated on thrones in God's presence, knelt down and worshiped him. They said,

"Lord God All-Powerful,
you are and you were,
and we thank you.
You used your great power
and started ruling.
When the nations got angry,
you became angry too!
Now the time has come
for the dead
to be judged.
It is time for you to reward
your servants the prophets
and all of your people
who honor your name,
no matter who they are.
It is time to destroy everyone
who has destroyed
the earth."

The door to God's temple in heaven was then opened, and the sacred chest could be seen inside the temple. I saw lightning and heard roars of thunder. The earth trembled and huge hailstones fell to the ground.

The graveyard is indeed full of the living, waiting for the end of time.


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