You wield old irony torches to
weld iron infallible foundations,
savagery is your own sanction
and primal rage a prime thought,
so you will choke on the smoke
and ash becomes your own grave,
yet the ancients will not weep,
nor will the kin you use to kindle
free us from your very bonds,
you will sway your splendor of pyre
and flames will rise beyond control,
animate this passion to a prometheus
and launch your glowing final salvo,
now seal his fate in driven fervency,
the ashes will be your fucking grave.
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