Fire tongues leave black scraps
In it’s weary wake
Charcoal dreams and fallen angels
All express their pain
Struggling still to snap, to break
Before the acid rain
I’ve wandered here in fantasies
In macabre nightmare
Hand-grasping, whisper curious
Their torture still ensues
How weak the humans can tear
When we’re wrongly accused
Among them they sprinkled spices
Feed passion – zealous – bleed
Shining what had disintegrated
Springing open minds
They’re irritated by the need
To search for what they cannot find
We could rush the wounds
Cast the healing for which they fought
But mourning by the sour moon
They cling to what they’ve been taught
Blinded to their burning tongue
Their tine will soon run short
They know they’re wrong –
Burning and young –
But the charred tongue has already whispered the word
“Mort”
