The birth of man was the birth of hell the wrathful flames dance around my head falling figuresburning dead a well once filled with flowing water now an endless tunnel of hate and squalor cove

Oncewith locks of hair all burned offto 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 me

Ll to the ground pulling backinside my head I watch for hoursthe 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 n

G gained--and no more fear and once again I will be pure