baptized by kilowatts and ohms, what's left is waiting.

the embers rise like incense carry prayers for what is

next to come. carry me on silver wings to meet with

vulcan. to be forged anew and rise again above with

arms of fire. holding this common language in our

hands. find solace in the landscape. the best laid

plans carry the wieght of an entire season's hope. the

city waits with shattered skyline for its missing hero. to

lay low those beneath and cast aside the restraints of

hopeless inertia as winter's chill fades below me. now

we are silent, holding this common language in our

hands. find solace in the landscape. watching,

waiting, holding on to victory's kiss. like alloys we

shape, bending ourselves to our needs. bend the

hammer to the anvil of self. the smithy screams with

exertion as the flames drive out impurities. bend the

hammer to the anvil of self. the soul screams with

recreation bathed in the furnace of ascension. winter's

chill fades below me.