The Flames crackle as they rise up,
Perhaps for the last time ,
From the dying embers of Life
An Orange glow casts long shadows.
The Skin burns softly,
But Wraiths don't feel pain.
Nor do they have a conscience.
Their life forged by the reaper's curse.
Memory a tattered cloth,
Fragments visiting and revisiting.
Filling my insides with revulsion,
Tales of Lies and Deception.
Time no longer heals the wounds
The bruises continue to bleed.
But there no pain
Neuroticism has long since replaced ache.
A long path forward remains,
With clenched fists he resists
Confusion meddling with his soul,
Right and wrong's lost all meaning.
Chorus:
Burn,
Until nought remains.
Burn.
Until the all the vitriol is gone.
Burn.
Until winter ends.
Burn.
Like an Inferno.
