Down In Flames

Purified or destroyed by fire. You decide on the
 Evidence. A child bride, some Freudian ire. Summarized in
 A burning bed. Blazing sheets, all our glowing springs
 Beneath. And cinders flying up the wall. It's no surprise
 That our histrionic rise became my meteoric fall. Down in
 Flames, down in flames. Consign to ashes every claim. She
 Dressed in red on the day that we wed. And beneath the
 Nightsky's crimson wing the opalescent moon, the
 Goatsucker's croon how could anyone help but sing? Down
 Posthumous rumours of the son that could have saved you.
 Sustained an insult in the womb. Wounded pride. A co-
 Worker's suicide. And other things he beat you to. You
 Know that vine that you always did admire that suffocates
 The competition? Propped up on their bones, it reaches
 For the sky? That's you alright, sister. I've looted my
 Life to the very walls to find the nidus of my
 Discontent. I do recall that I had the gall to give up
 Church for lent.