When our bridges are burned, when our world is but ash
And we stand like statues in the noise of the crash,
Will we rebel, will we cry foul!? Will we lash
Out in fury, our screams a knife’s gash
That cuts to the quick, leaves wounds raw and fresh?
In a litter of nothing, a heretic’s stash
Will I rise up alone and alone raise my glass
To drink of the blood, the wine a pure wash?
Will I stumble out in wild frenzied dash,
Storm against evil, with dripping sword clash,
Call out to the enemy, “Here! Let me pass!”
And blindly then burn, and turn into the ash?