Kings stand far away and mourn the smoke of vanished Babylon. Merchants weep because no buyer wants the cargo of her pride. Gold and silk, spice and wine, beasts and bodies fill the broken ledger. Shipmasters throw dust upon their heads beside the empty sea. The Merchants Weep Fallen is the city that made the nations drunken. Her splendour turns to smoke within a single hour. Come out from her and give the glory unto God. In one hour all the splendid wealth has come to nothing. Heaven, saints, apostles, prophets answer judgment with rejoicing. No jeweled cup can hide the blood within it. The merchants mourn, but heaven remembers justice. A millstone falls into the deep and will not rise again. Prophetic blood is found within the city where the music died. The Merchants Weep Fallen is the city that made the nations drunken. Her splendour turns to smoke within a single hour. Come out from her and give the glory unto God. The Merchants Weep