When I was young, my father said, “Son, you’ll burn bright, then fade to red.” Now I’m a ghost in a hospital bed, Counting the sins in my head. They stitched my heart with a rosary, Said prayers but forgot to breathe. The angels left me on read, Guess Heaven’s full of the dead. So paint my eyes like a funeral sky, I’ll smile while the sirens cry— Raise your hands if you’re broken, If your faith is just a token, We’ll march through the ashes, With our hearts wide open. We were born for the ending, For the spark, not the mending— So light me up, I’ll go out in style, With a tear and a wicked smile. They crowned me saint of the lost and lame, Built a church out of guilt and shame. Every hymn just spelled my name, But nobody stayed for the flame. The choir’s drunk on misery, The priest forgot his decency. If love’s a war, then I concede, But I’ll bleed like a symphony. So kiss my scars, they’re stories told, In silver ink and painted gold— Raise your hands if you’re broken, If your faith is just a token, We’ll march through the ashes, With our hearts wide open. We were born for the ending, For the spark, not the mending— So light me up, I’ll go out in style, With a tear and a wicked smile. Drums in the distance, calling my name, A cavalcade of the beautifully insane. We sing for the sinners who never were saved, We dance on the edge of the grave. Raise your hands if you’re chosen, If your halo’s cracked and frozen, We’ll burn through the heavens, And keep the gates open. We were born for the ending, But our fire’s unbending— So play that tune for the damned awhile, As we fade with a wicked smile. When I was young, my father said, “Son, you’ll burn bright…” …and I did.