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This dying ember of an old blaze
A Hellish prison that we've been caught in,
My soul left to bleed in the mid-Winter wind.


He refuses to enflame the torch,
Afraid of the sensitive, nightmarish forest beyond.
May he flee, may he indulge.
His mind is full of traps and snares
And he dare not alert the horde,
No not alert the horde


To his gentile, innocent soul.
Cut, unpolished,
A sapphire in the rough
In a vein of rubies, dull and broken


He conflicts, he feels.
His radiant unconsciousness left buried.
The blaze in his heart burns on,
Though suffocated by the trees.
A gem by no other's standards
Silently, silently, silently,
Waiting to be rescued.


He wants not for the signal fire to burn.
He wants not for the horde to find him.
He wants not for the trees to whisper.
But he wants not to die alone.
Cold,
Alone.