Today the curtains are made of sunlight,
Blinding my storm-covered vision,
Piercing through the rain, the fog, the clouds,
The hidden cave beneath the mountains.
The ball of flame, it is far from me -
Yet it kindles one by one, the candles on the table,
The fury of winter against the blossoming spring,
Ever seeking the breach.
Reckless despair, unwavering hope
Englighting its battle within my walls
The birth of red, of fire and fate,
Burning amongst a sea of gasoline.
Victorious, I stand, with my skin unburnt,
On a mountain of ashes, of broken gardens
Looking, with hope and blackened joy,
At the gray clouds, fast-approaching.