An image projected
On the plain of Dura
Ten golden stories tall
Gleaming in the sun
The pride of Babylon
Consummated by order
Of Nebuchadnezzer who
Had even captured the ark
And the people of the covenant
Ordered to bow down
At the sound of the trumpet
Pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, drum, and entire musical ensemble
Astronomers trembled with delight
To expose the defiance
That Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego
Openly displayed in a province
Which the king had made
Their dominion to keep
In a way they knew
Was a set-up
Destined to entrap
The satraps in a place
Between their ruler and
Their Lord most high
Higher than ten stories
Anyway you measure
Still close enough to burn
In their hearts
A backfire to consumption
In the Babylonian stacks
Whose heat defeated
The strongest warriors
Yet in the midst
Of the raging furnace
Stood Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego
Enveloped by one
Looking like a son
Of the gods on
The Dural plain
Between where they lived
And all that threatened
The lives of the faithful
Untouched by flame
Not even the smell
Of death could cross
A barrier made for
Living after the fires
And the sounds
Of the trumpet
Pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, drum, and entire musical ensemble
Faded into obscurity
With the king himself
And the image which
Could never reach
Where the three abide
Within the one