The wrathful flames dance around my head Falling figures, burning dead A well once filled with flowing water Now an endless tunnel of hate and squalor
Covered, once, with locks of hair All burned off, to leave me bare
A hand that once reached out to feel Now gropes about for something real I try to hold onto what I’ve found But the heat of the touch melts all to the ground
Pulling back, Inside my head I watch for hours, the listless dead
From my hear flows the tears Giving no life to that which is seared I wait for the day when only ashes appear Nothing gained – and no more fear