Shriven

Where roots grow twisted in sunless mire

A voice called out from beneath the spire

It spoke not, in words but, fire and scream a lullaby

laced with a burning dream, i tore the light from behind my eyes, golden throne

Drank deep the song, that never dies, there in the filth, where stars go blind

I shed the chains, the mind

What gods would leave us torn and maimed

The blessed speak, of golden grace, yet veil their world, in blood and waste

So i, no saint, no sovereign born

Waged peace, in wrath, a crowned flame in scorn

She weeps not tears, but holy rust, her lips bear fruit, from soil and dust

She leads the way with hollow prayer

Not for salvation, but to share

A hymnless chant, without bounds, let all be cleansed, she softly said

Not through life but through the dead

No throne I sought, no crown

Only the silence after flame

The high are judged, the weak stand tall, the sky ignites, in ashen grace

And darkness wears a burning face

The laws were written, written in decay

Their gods long deaf, their angels flayed, and so i lit the ancient choir

Not in hate, but mercy's fire

Now let the stars forget their name

Let all that breathes, return to dust, and sleep at last, in peace not trust

For I am, no savior, no soul to hire

No infernal king