There is a pain inherent in,
Arising up to fall again,
For what good is it to arise,
When forced to suffer more demise?

The cycle, yes, the wheel turns,
As stones collapse and fire burns,
And from the fire, stark, sublime,
That sharpest blade that we call ‘Time’.

Fault not the Lord wishing high,
When trapped ‘neath earth and tree and sky,
To cleave the stone and then be free,
A Lord no longer on bent knee.

And here a flame so grand alight,
The darkness banished, bathed in white,
And with his might and in his love,
As so below so too above.

But greed and pride left truth obscured,
By fire’s light the dark is lured,
And avarice did tempt fate’s ire,
What prideful hand could grasp the fire?

Inside of Man a darkness slept,
While high, gods reigned; low, dark had crept,
And furtively it split and spread,
What cannot die cannot be dead.

Yet now the cycle starts again,
The bonfires sing their hollow hymn,
The dark replaced by sickly gray,
Because a serpent tricked its prey.

So rise or fall the choice remains,
Or eat the gods and snuff the flames,
Or praise the sun high in the sky,
Death is no end – prepare to die