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The birth of man was the birth of Hell 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 And once again I will be pure |
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