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A calm before the storm.
A whistling in the trees.
Paranoia is blowing in the breeze.
All I’ve ever found is burning to the ground,
and all I’ll ever do is burn a hole in you.

A spark becomes a flame,
The wheels begin to rust.
Ashen turns to ash
And lovers turn to dust.

Their love began with a spark. A candle, the flame dancing and flirting with the air.

Before long, their love had become all consuming. It was everything that filled his mind.

She, his lover, was his whole world.

But the curious thing about fire is that which can in one moment be a symbol of romance, can the very next be what tears lovers apart.

The spark becomes a flame and the greedy flame consumed all it desires. Beautiful poetry at its most destructive.

That candle, the symbol of their love, set the bedroom alight in more ways than one. The final memory he had of her was her screaming in the night as the fire took her.

Ashen turned to ashen, and lovers turner to dust.

A fire fills the air,
the smoke is everywhere,
It’s darker than disease;
it brings you to your knees.

Our love begins to choke,
our lives go up in flames.
Everything will burn
and nothing will remain

All he ever loved was burned into the ground that night. He was left bitter, vengeful and a shell of his former self.

No longer could his heart love and his paranoia took hold of him. It became the flame that burned in his life.

It was not long before he begged for death to finish the job.

His demise captured in this ballad.

You know the tale intimately, Burned Man, for it is yours as much as it is his. You lost everything that night and gained but a vendetta.

But it is that vendetta, not the flames, that chokes the life out of you. For they cannot rest in death until your charred heart settles its debt, one way or another.

Your fire burns for vengeance, a wildfire burning out of control.

A wildfire sweeps over you,
Burning bright and out of control.
A wildfire sweeps through you,
Turning your insides to black,
It’s destroyed everything in it’s path.

Once the flames are fanned, your fire will destroy. For that is what fire does.

It breathes no life, only death.

Beautiful death.

How did I survive?
Burnt but still alive.
A part of me has died,
in those ashes I despise.

The Wildfire Lover died the same way as his great love, screaming as the fire of his own doing consumed him.

As will you, Burned Man.

You will beg, not for mercy, but for death to finish it’s job and take you home. It’s what makes you weak, kindling to the fire.

My fire. The fire of your vengeful heart.

It burns with the Lover’s poetry, to see you reunited with your family.

Through death.

Through the flames.

That is what is written in your song.

Live out your vendetta, then death will welcome you.

El Mariachi Muerte