From the fire beneath, I dont perspire.
I aspire up a spire,
among a dire need to ascend higher and lighter,
the flames brighter and tighter.
My lyre plays in the background.
The liar sings the pillar pyre fire,
his pair of lungs in prayer force air to expire.
I have aspired to a height greatly admired.
The lyre in tune is a pirate for hire,
who plays for the lightning to strike down the liar.
Crack! on the spire, down below laughs the liar.
I am so very tired, even my grip is on fire,
the lyre plays higher and the clouds begin to perspire.
Down my face, cool my hand, clean the air,
Douse the fire.
The liar's pyre is my spire.
I picked you lyre,