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WHEN THE SUN WEPT IT SHED FIRE
AND ONE DROP CAME
CONSUMED, DESTROYED
MADE AND UNMADE ME

I HAD LIT CANDLES BEFORE.
QUIET AND TAME WITHIN THE ICE
THEY PLEADED FOR THEIR DUE
FOR THE WILDNESS OWED THEM

BUT THE COLOR GOLD IS A DRAGON
AND IT IS NOT TO BE TAMED
THE BREATH OF THE PLEADING
WAS LIKE THE BLACKSMITH BELLOWS
OR THE DRIVING SPRINGTIME WIND
AND THE FIRE FLEW

IT GAVE WINGS TO THE CRY
FOR HELP AND HOPE
EVEN AS IT FUELED THE SHELLS
SCATTERING SKIES AND BONES

THE STATELY PILLAR BURNED 
RINGED IN THE MIDNIGHT MOUNTAINS
AND SPOKE HOPE INTO HUNDREDS
OF TINY FLICKERING LIGHTS

THEY SENT FLOWERS LIKE BEACONS
PAINTING MY STORY ACROSS THE SKY

IT BURNED A PERFECT CIRCLE ROUND US
AND IT DID NOT HARM US
AS WE STROLLED IN THE FURNACE
THAT WAS SEVEN TIMES TOO HOT

BUT IT CONSUMED ME UTTERLY
WHEN WE STOOD AS ONE
IN AN ABUNDANCE OF SNOW

THE FIERCENESS OF FIRE THEN
WAS TRIUMPH AND EXUBERANCE
GOLDEN FOUNTAINS ORDERED 
AND UNSHAKEABLY WILD

IN THE AFTERMATH OF A NIGHTMARE
THE GOLDEN CROSS STILL STANDS
BUT THE SPIRE SUBMITTED TO THE ABYSS
AND DESTRUCTION IS STILL A TRAGEDY

BUT IN THE FREEDOM BORN OF FIRE
A CRACKED AND MOULDERING SHIP 
WAS MADE WHOLE AND SET
TO SAIL THE SEAS OF SHIMMERING WINE

BUT SOON IT WILL BE
BUT A VIKING PYRE
UNLESS THE SONG OF AN EMPTY TOMB
CAN BE SUNG AGAIN IN ME