Time is never ending, but there is a limit on our fate.
We are stuck pretending and reality's come too late.
I watch a small town burn on a coast near our state
and what have we learned? There's nothing beautiful to create.
We live for nothing, we are beckoned to the call.
We stand for nothing, we watch it all fall.
I am on the pier, with a torch in my hand...
I smother the flame, on the beach, with the sand.
I am done creating flames for the future,
I am done trying to burn my past.
I am done with these flames.
I am done with your wrath.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem