Sculpt the Lives - Burst

Cold eyes of fire

Talk to me

Stillborn desire

In the air I breathe

In our wanton spirits

I read

Closure

Nauseating rites

A face and heart I heed

Unprecedented

In longing

As we soar still higher

As Icarus we’ll plunge

In longing manner we’ll admire

Into depths all unknown

Soul and purpose set alight

Over barren lands we’ve flown

In transmission

Morning thrives