Split and sundered,

Streaked with charcoal,

We burn ourselves to ashes

While our souls smolder in the sky.

Two wings of a phoenix obscure,

Dipping into the fire’s blaze,

Gold swirling with tears and crimson,

Fading away to a bleak black.

Oh, how can we rise

If the phoenix turns into ash

Oh, how can we fly,

If the phoenix is on fire.

Caught in an inferno,

But not the slightest scent of smoke,

Burnt, charred, seared, and singed,

But alas no aroma of ash.