The color of smoke
is there such a thing?
Or an illusion
from a colored flame?

Still, they persist...

What happened here?
What are all these pieces doing?
Did they break away
or were they broken by truth?

Still, they persist
telling me he wants me now...

I'm the fire
rolling and sparking, I
I'm the blaze
The smoke in the sky, darkening

You fan the flames
Pouring kerosene down their thirsty throats
You look for an exit, but
there's no use of an elevator here
You came, you found me
And now here you'll stay
With me in the flames.