I'd burn to see this hard-worn heart erupt

I'd burn to see this hard-worn heart erupt,

But far away the prideful mind assumes

That to tread where the dark waits to disrupt

Is to never again find peace in rooms

Where the sun bed is laid and I am cold.

I must be cold, for why else would I climb

Into the mud some centuries old,

Filled with bodies and bones burned up with lyme?

Soft skin 'tween legs invites wandering eyes.

Some warmth contradicts the frigid void

And t'find oneself in the pain of demise,

Well, I might just sing songs in parks devoid

Of oxygen sucked up by the fire,

Atom cloud of my burning desire.