If you kiss an angel,

And tell them you do kiss,

To find a soft, hearth in heart,

A place near love called bliss.

She tastes of ash and embers,

Her eyes are dark and pale,

And yet, you may find her sow lost souls,

And reap of gentler tales.

Through the lands of Brave and Glory,

And a river in Freedom called Greed,

At the golden road, where the sycamore grows,

Are the meager enriching with need.

She falls in a meadow of fire,

Reaching sunshine in her hair,

And through her sparks and fraying locks,

Her power crumbles there.

The river has boiled with instinctive unease,

And the righteous are cooking the poor,

They’ll be burning the bridge where the peacemaker lives,

And rigging to settle the score.

This world is consumed by fire,

And not one man may turn it right,

So burn the bridge, demoralists kiss,

And let the angels burn bright.