In ashes she's born, yet morrow she's gone.
In flames of her hope, we gathered to stop,
To take a deep breath, to see how she shone.
In this gleam we saw no escape.
But she gave us a beam,
She gave us a dream.

The flames of obsession are whirling around,
Searing all life, burning the ground.
These flames are the fuel that drives this whole world,
The power that stops us from growing so old.
At last when they're quiet, nothing remains,
Even our pains,
Nor our gains.

When these flames do go quiet, we left all alone,
And the flower that shone, the flower that grown,
May have survived it, and maybe it's gone.

The dust that collected over the years,
The stuff of our legends,
The blocks of our tears,
Building a new life, building it deep,
Building it stronger, under the dirt.

And then the next morning, the next day in life,
When the flower is showing new signs of pride,
No one is there to look at the light.
The place maybe now teeming with green,
But there's no one there to look at the scene.

In ashes she's born, yet morrow she's gone.
Let's only hope that we'll be around.
To be there to see, that she may be found.