Work Text:
The flowing embers stretch the sky,
birds not wanting to lie.
The whispers sailing the wind,
holding down the rails of sin.
Sirens scream to heaven,
“Hold us down, heatens are here”
The cries slide down the Devon,
help was there, words were clear.
The sun was fed,
eyes just bled,
tears are now red,
the man who led,
died hanging from a thread.