Under the glassy sky covered in mourning clouds,

There I stood

All in black, head bent low

It was funeral.

A bottle of gasoline,

And a matchbox in hand

There I stood,

Ready to burn the last four years

Prepared to set it all on fire

It rained, and I was soaked

baptized by water.

I struck a match and the flame grew

But when it was over,

I came out of the smoke

And rose from the ashes.

I burned bridges like they were never built.

After all new beginnings don't come

We make them.