The untouched, gentle glow of a light cannot show

Where it is, where it’s been, or to where it will go.

I can sense as I stare into wavering air;

In the haze of the heat is a fear of what’s there.

So the brighter we burn and the sooner we learn

Just how quickly the hands of the clock face will turn.

Because fire that reaches its tips to the sky

Always wants to go higher and higher than high.

If I play this old game but don’t play it the same,

Then I’ll pray that there’s hope in preserving this flame.

But if this is instead a false start from the start

Then must I keep the warmth from consuming my heart?

So the brighter it burns, and the sooner it dies

Into coals that are left yet unseen by your eyes.

But these coals touch my lips, which then burst into praise

To rekindle my soul with a powerful blaze.

Because fire that reaches its tips to the sky

Will be met with a truth that all fires must die.