I hid… Behind the crimson curtain of pride… But even shadows burn When shame becomes the sun. He walked with iron in his eyes, A demon dressed in human cries. His name was silence But the world screamed louder. He drank from wells of twisted faith, Spoke in riddles, bled in wraiths. But pride’s a mask that peels with fire… And oh, how shame is a liar. “You’re not who they think You’re worse.” He burned-oh, how he burned! In flames not cast by men But forged from guilt, And stitched with sin. No soul to save. No breath to lend. He burned Because he dared pretend! They laughed at angels dancing in the ash… And he laughed with them. Until the mirror cracked And showed him what he was. Each lie a note upon his skin, Each secret screaming from within. A symphony of broken oaths, Conducted by his rotting growth. He howled with wolves he once betrayed, They sang him down to his own grave. But graves are doors And demons don’t stay buried. He burned-yes, hell remembered! No flame like that of truth dismembered. A funeral in every eye, And even smoke refused the sky! The curtains tore. The heavens wept. The pipe organ screamed, And silence crept. He rose in sparks, A crown of scars, And sang with lungs of shattered stars: “I am the truth they cannot face, The cursed, the damned, the soul misplaced! Let choirs of ruin sing my name I burned in shame, And rose in flame!” Ashamed… And yet So beautifully aflame.
