Song of the seraphs, Strife of the serpant.

I search for the tempest
Beneath the strangers eyes
The angel that lies in rest
And the paint that draws the skies

I cast all my will
As the serpent begins to rise
I hear the silence when all is still
And I take off my disguise

I build a temple within sacrifice
My agony is what builds the walls
And without any compromise
All of my pride falls

Even though your flame
Was blown out by the heartless
I remembered your fire, not your name
And I gaze upon your scar of remembrance

Thousands of whispers
Wrap around me like the wind
The prayers of the sufferers
Into dust, and ash, they descend

As your tear drop falls onto the soil
Forming the perfect shape, then shattering
It waters the seed, a flower grows without foil
To nurse fragile wings to break the tethering