Out. Out cold. With only the ashes left to smolder
Once laid there, a man, now all that’s left. A beholder.
A figure, a form. Of what used to be, what was
A man, old some say, but young is what he was
No matter here. All that's important is that he ate
He ate and it turned into fire, fire that never flickered straight
Fire like none other. The flames, they run through his body
searching for the food they live for, for that food was his shawty
And when they find it, the wood.
It gets eaten alive with no choice but to sit there for good
Sit and wait until the flames have gone down
But when they go down, so does he into the unforgiving ground
The man. He turns from new to old
Because the flames, they turn from heat to cold.
They turn from the red, burning warmth of there light
And into the cold, dark cave of their dwindling ignite
Because the fire, it’s out, out cold with only the ashes left to smolder
But once laid there, a man. Now all that's left. A beholder.