As the auburn flames mark my consumption,
My eternal suffering is excavated. I fight the
Urges of humanism and nuerotic pain. My
Persistent nature fled in a handful of dust
And left me deserted within myself. My few
Words that I manage to spit out between bursts
Of undesirable agony are worth more than the
Many words of a historian. As the flames rise up
In bursts of fragrant ash and mocking laughter
Echo through the years of the many, my command
Is futile. Serve the living God.
