I see it, I see it,
Clairvoyant possibly.
A word to the wise,
I believe I can see.

To my unborn son
I wish better things
Than this vision of hell
and the fate that it brings.

I peer into the water,
Divining rod in hand,
Ocean tides flowing
Over bloody-red sand.

A pain in my heart,
The eye wet with tear.
A chill in thy spine,
This future so near.

The voyeur is chosen,
The task up to me.
My eyes have grown tired.
The vision goes free.