Incendere

A strange generation-now at watch
By the rain of fire
Decommissioned-from the drag of days
From mirth to grave

Like seed you would cast the hope i always
Wanted to know;
To reach inside for its heart-to bring it
Back in these hands

I prayed and kneeled by the image
Made of silver, light and time
I lit and burned my incense
But the altar was so wrong
To this day i cannot live with those
Ricochets from silence