O Ye Sandy

In the year of our Lord,
Twenty hundred and twelve,
I write to you in hopes of a better time.
I sit by my candle, remembering the promises I made once.
Missing your embrace I am forlorn at our seperation.
Izekiel and Jedidiah have been busy anchoring down our homestead,
but I have fear in my gullet.
We might not make it out of this one alive.
This is the end my love.
I say to thee goodbye.
Dude, you're taking this hurricane way too seriously.