The birth of man was the birth of Hell      The wrathful flames dance around my head   Falling figures, burning dead   A well once filled with flowing water   Now an endless tunnel of hate and squalor      Covered, once, with locks of hair   All burned off, to leave me bare   A hand that once reached out to feel   Now gropes about for something real   I try to hold onto what I've found   But the heat of the touch melts all to the ground      Pulling back, Inside my head   I watch for hours, the listless dead   From my hear flows the tears   Giving no life to that which is seared   I wait for the day when only ashes appear   Nothing gained--and no more fear   And once again I will be pure