The fire burns, the fire burns,
In my dreams, I toss and turn,
In my room, I sit and fiddle,
As the world figures out my riddle,
The fire spreads, the fire spreads,
I play my Lyre, for those who are dead,
And when destruction finally ceases,
I bring my thoughts and put back the pieces,
The Christians, for they deserve the fear,
Their screams and cries, this joy I haven't seen in years.
I'm just like my Uncle, I love a good laugh,
As I have mother killed, for standing in my path.
My life goals, what I long to be,
Oh how I wish you were there, so you could see,
It is a great loss. What an artist dies in me.
© Copyright 2016 MorganLitchfield. All rights reserved.
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