A Candle Is Lit

The symphony of shadows,
midnight music I've composed,
beneath the silver crescent moon.
Bleed the moonlight,
black stains on my eyesight,
while I dance in fragments of inferno.

Hand painting with shards of glass,
memories of the shattered yesterday.
Taste my phantom's kiss,
I've got nothing left to say,
when the dead are licking my lips,
beckoning me to the burning May.

Lungs are ice,
tonight is cold and constructed of pain,
sighs and empty breath won't suffice,
endlessly wandering through an acid rain.
It's all black, not a speck of white,
from that grave I've come back,
a campaign of hatred and spite.

But a candle is lit,
I can see from my throne made of parts of broken bones,
a sanctuary of your favourite colours, where I sit.
Can't cry now, 'cause of lies,
I've seen the horizon and sunrise.

Selfishly hated,
it's no wonder you're jaded,
and you can't blame the victim this time.
I've chased death through,
the pyramids of Egypt,
crawled across sands old and new,
and your darkness can't chase me, I've got the tombs flipped.

A candle is lit,
fiery eruption of salvation,
repairing my heart's mutilation.
Dress me in the flames,
sing me unspoken names,
and the poetry of the damned.

One candle lit,
and there'll be a thousand more.
Can't stand the taint of the Babylon wh ore,
a rotten piece of the puzzle, that won't fit.
Drink the last of my tears,
give me the life of vows and fears,
no more sorrow to be bled,
so get the Hell out of my head.