Im on break right now and thought maybe I could get this up in a few minutes. This prophecy was made by a Shaman King named Ferchertne who lived in Scotland sometime in the 3rd century. What he has to say sounds like the present day! I only excluded one verse because it was vulgar.

Ferchertne answered

I have indeed: terrible tidings,
evil times forever,
abundant leaders,
but little honour,
fair judgements overturned,
the worlds cattle barren,
men immodest
champions departing.
Men will be all bad:
few kings, many usurpers;
crowds of the disgraced,
all men blemished.
Chariots will smash on the track,
Nial's plains will be overrun,
truth no longer safeguard wealth.
Sentries will guard the sacred places.
Art will become buffoonery,
only falshoods heard.
Through pride and arrogance
no one will keep his proper place,
neither rank, age, nor honour,
dignity nor art
will be served.
Even the skilled will be broken.
Kings will be paupers,
nobles condemned,
the baseborn will falter,
'till neither God nor man wins worship.
Princes, both lawful and unlawful, will perish
when the Men of the Black Spears come.
Belief will end,
offerings be stolen
houses broken open,
cells undermined,
churches burned.
Even poor storerooms be laid waste,
fruits and flowers perish,
and the Kings followers
will be houseless.
Hounds will turn on their masters.
everyone will inflict a double hurt:
by darkness, through grudging and neglect.
At the last world's ending, there will be
a plea of poverty, grudging and neglect.
Artists will quarrel,
everyone will pay a satirist
to make satires on his behalf,
all will be bound by sureties,
neibours betray each other,
brother against brother,
drinking companions slay each other,
neither truth, nor honour nor soul in any.
Niggards will reduce everyone to their level,
usurpers will satirize each other
with storms of dark cursing,
ranks will split, clerics be forgotten,
sages despised,
music will turn men boorish,
champions will become monks,
wisdom will be turned inside out,
the lords will turn on the Church,
evil, not blessing, in their crosiers.
All relationships will be adulterous.

Peasant sons and churls will find
free will and overweening pride;
meanness, inhospitality and penury will rule
so that art becomes dark;
skilled embroidery will be
in the hands of sluts and harlots,
the garments they make without color.

Wrong judgments will be all the lords can make,
faithless and anger
will be so much part of everyone,
that neither bondslave nor handmaid
will serve their masters,
neither kings nor lords
hear the prayers of their poeple,
neither will bailies
hear the cries of their tenants.
Tributes will go unpaid,
tenants of the church
not pay their dues,
wives not obey their husbands,
sons and daughters disobey their parents,
pupils ignore their teachers.

Everyone will turn his heart to falseness,
and seek to surpass his teacher,
so that students will sit above their masters,
and there will be no shame,
when kings eat and drink
while their comrades wait,
or farmers scoff
after closing the door
on artists who will sell their cloaks and their honour
for the price of a meal;
so that everyone eating dinner
turns away from his neighbour;
so that greed will fill every human being,
so that proud men sell their honour
and their souls for the price of a single scruple.
Modest will be cast away,
poeple condemned,
lords destroyed,
ranks dispised,
Sunday degraded,
letters forgotten,
poets cease to appear.

Belief will vanish,
false judgements will manifest
through usurpers of the last world;
fruits will be burned
by strangers and rabble.
Lands will hold too many poeple,
districts be stretched,
forests become plains
and plains forests,
everyone will be a slave.

Thereafter will come dreadful diseases:
sudden, awful tempests,
lightning which causes trees to cry out,
winters leafy,
summers gloomy,
autumn without crops,
spring without flowers,
mortality through famine,
diseases in cattle:
staggers, murrains, dropsies, agues and lumps.

Estrays without profit,
hoards without treasure,
goods without consumers,
extinction of champions,
failure of crops,
prejudice,
angry judgements,
death for three days and three nights
on a third of all humanity,
a third of all plagues on beasts of forests and sea.

Then will come seven years of lamentation:
flowers will perish,
in every house wailing,
outlanders consuming Erin's plains.
Men will herd men,
there will be conflict round Cnamchoill,
fair folk slain.

Contests will be fought at sacred places,
desolation visit the heights and plains,
the sea breaks its bounds
when the Land of Promise falls.
Ireland will be left
for seven years
to mour the slaughter.

Next will come the signes of the Antichrist,
to every tribe monsters will be born,
pools will flood back into streams,
horse dung will look like gold,
water taste like wine;
mountains seem like perfect lands
bogs give birth to clover,
bee-swarms burn in the highlands,
flood-tides not withdraw for days.

Thereafter seven more dark years.
They will hide the lamps of heaven.
At the end of the world will be judgement.
It will be The Judgement, my son.
Great tidings, awful tidings,
an evil time!