hot coals lie
on sweltered soil
soaked with the
blood of those
who have come
and those who
do not sing
the winds eternal.
wish now they
sung and the
pain would end
for life is
the lust of
a lamp for
the light which
is dark till
the dawn of
they day on
which we die.
sing, bright one,
for that which
is last and
never shall be
found till is
found the dark
pain that lies
sheltered within the
dark shell's hoard.