They say
it’s a circle. Oh! But it’s not! The
phoenix will never rise from the ashes again.
Blow after blow, the poor creature bled, its tears a
terrible tinge of red. But it wasn't dead. There were more
aversions awaiting it- The fire in hell- burning, seeking. But it
won't go. For the phoenix was meant to rise, and though
it’s just ashes, The soul is somewhere alive. And it
will come to life when the heavens mourn its
death, when God Himself would
descend
And bless the sacred creature
But when! Oh When?
phoenix will never rise from the ashes again.
Blow after blow, the poor creature bled, its tears a
terrible tinge of red. But it wasn't dead. There were more
aversions awaiting it- The fire in hell- burning, seeking. But it
won't go. For the phoenix was meant to rise, and though
it’s just ashes, The soul is somewhere alive. And it
will come to life when the heavens mourn its
death, when God Himself would
descend
And bless the sacred creature
But when! Oh When?