The story behind his silence was haunting.
And he whispered a defamed Orison.
Pain eluded as that ember died.
On his final night homewards.
Embroil he brooded, was in vapors and flames.
He was free once again, having no one to blame.
His conscience was brittle but it survived.
His soul wasn’t sold, and so it thrived.
In awe and agony we bid farewell.
The wounds which were healed started to swell.
And as we sang that Orison one last time.
Kings were brought down and so their crowns.
Aeons passed and the Orison was lost.
Burning to ashes, paying eternal cost.