Do not fret, do not be deceived.
The blood is just blood and the ashes just ash.
Both slip through our fingers, both fall to the floor, they mark the remains
of something that’s more.
You play mental games with this burden of yours.

Even you cannot fathom the depths of the soul,
cannot give it a measure, a length, width, or height.
So pull up your anchor, unravel your mast,
your body is conquering you at last.

A ride on the raves, for you should do it.
But a darkness lurks, awaiting its prey.

Nostrils of flame and claws from the deep,
tear at the boards unveiling your keep,
they wake you unnervingly from your deep sleep.

You scramble, alone, for a possible answer.
And find not one thing that hasn’t been spoken.

I told you, I told you, you have been taught,
to think nothing of what could have possible wrought,
and tattered the life that you once sought.

When the fire starts, you try to escape,
but the damage has left you some battle scars,

So you bleed in the ocean, two salts are one.
the aged old prophecy again has begun,
your staggering lifeline will soon be undone.

You mustn’t fret, must not be deceived, your blood is just blood and the
ashes just ash.
Both slip through your fingers, both fall to the floor, and mark the remains
of something once more.
A mind trick, a burden... yours to explore

 
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