What is peace? The word is foreign to you.

You watch as buildings burn and children perish.

You are seen as a saint, yet you let them end.

What is your goal? You cannot be read like a book.

What is the cold? The warmth you seek is an internal flame.

What is safety? The world you created has none.

What do you wish? You turn away from your creations

Who cry for help.

You made us, yet you let us cease to exist, you give us warmth

But the flame is cold and dead. It is cold and created so freely.

You destroy us, to make way for heartless machines.

You watch us burn, even when flame is put out and ashes fly.

When the ice is near, you fly to flee what you have born from your heart.