Richie Owens

Miggido: A Journey to the End
I wrote this song in the dark, somewhere between salvation and damnation, where the tracks rattle like the bones of dead prophets, and the night swallows men whole. It's about that long, slow ride toward something inevitable—toward a reckoning, maybe. Or just the realization that the road behind you ain’t as straight as you thought.
The train to Megiddo ain’t just iron and steam. No, it’s something else. It’s the weight of every choice that took a man from who he thought he was to who he really is. And the thing about Megiddo? It don’t judge. It don’t care. It just waits.
You see, the missing years, they don’t explain a damn thing. People change their minds, rewrite their pasts, try to outrun the ghosts. But the past—it don’t stay buried. It rises up, silent and grinning, ready to drag you back into the fire. That’s what happened to me. A revelation. It didn’t come with light from the heavens or a voice in the wilderness. No, it hit me from behind like a thief in the night, left me gasping, left me knowing.
Sixty miles north of Jerusalem, and there’s no turning back. I tell myself I’d rather be in hell than on this train, but hell ain’t fire and brimstone—it’s knowing you’ve gone too far to turn around. It’s knowing that the next stop is the last stop.And then there’s the barker. A preacher, a con man, a storyteller—ain’t much difference when the crowd’s hungry enough. He’s selling salvation in cheap bottles and paper promises, and the fools who listen eat it up. But I ain’t buying. Not tonight.
Because some bets are already placed. Some tickets, already punched. And for the race to Armageddon, I ain’t looking for a miracle. I’m just betting on the train.