Flame

There is a fire within me, Every day it burns. For that angry parent, For their world that never turns.

As my time passes, It seethes deep inside. And the flames grow, They stretch and collide. These are the words it speaks:

War is only my kindling, Death is my match. Bigotry is the hand that lights that match, Hatred and prejudice are the hands that find the logs, And hurl that match into them. And I will consume you all. I will go toe to toe with the devil in the depths of hell, If the slayer's sword will permit me. I will fight you to the last, To the end of my days. And if you stand to tell me, That this isn't my fight. Then you contradict your own resolve, For I am the voice of the righteous, I am the voice of the moral. I am every voice that deserves to be heard. No, I am every voice.

And maybe the fight is too long, Maybe it has no end. Perhaps it'll drag on 'til the earth stops spinning, Or a victor is at last chosen, The sacrifice being our own individuality. But my fire was lit, It seethed, it burned, and the flames grew. At least I stood up for what I believed in, At least I tried, At least I stood against the world, And showed them I wasn't afraid of it. My flames singed them all, And that has made all the difference.