Set fire darkly to my mind. Let raginig seas drown infernos white hot and deep within. Without this soul quenching the tides will carry on, lifting me along them and out to sea.
It's desperate and the wind blows like a howling fire not yet caught aflame. The wind is but kindling in waiting. God's servants dance with wick-like heads and never burn. But they do burn out and meet the firelight low within them. And they do burn, rough and raw as the spirit sometimes moves them.