If I do the work of my father who sent me, he will make myself known in me and I and him,
My grief will be transmuted into joys,
And the secrets that they are not permitted to know I will share freely with the hearts that are open to receive it,
As I receive with them,
And the secrets of our hearts are revealed.

Instead of mine it will then be my father's vengeance poured out,
And the sound of victory will scream,
such a scream you have never heard,
Such a scream is like tears transformed and silent passing through walls and barriers like the shriek of wraiths at the speed of sound,
And they are screaming three words,

It. Is. Well.