I am the stone where the ash descends.
Where the road stops and the journey ends.
He brings a hook and a heavy net.
A lonely ghost in a silhouette.
Feed me the wood and the golden spark.
Keep the cold wind from the heavy dark.
Hold to the heat while the embers spin.
Wait for the cycle to start again.
He sits in salt and the silver brine.
A broken man in a ruined shrine.
The water drips from his heavy sleeve.
A quiet prayer that he won't leave.
Feed me the wood and the golden spark.
Keep the cold wind from the heavy dark.
Hold to the heat while the embers spin.
Wait for the cycle to start again.
He casts a line in a shallow pool.
A patient king and a tired fool.
The orange light hits his weathered skin.
The slow decay where the nights begin.
Feed me the wood and the golden spark.
Keep the cold wind from the heavy dark.
Hold to the heat while the embers spin.
Wait for the cycle to start again.
The iron grate is a frozen cage.
A story written on a burnt page.
One single breath makes the fire rise.
The only truth in his hollow eyes.
The wind is sharp on the jagged peak.
The spirit bends and the joints are weak.
He closes eyes as the charcoal glows.
And where he goes only winter knows.
Feed me the wood and the golden spark.
Keep the cold wind from the heavy dark.
Hold to the heat while the embers spin.
Wait for the cycle to start again.
The ember glows.
The cycle flows.
Just stay a while.
