Refuses To Bow

Fire is my best friend

Not the type that whips and bends

From a slap sent from the wind

But a flame that flows

Through my soul and lifeblood

A brushfire rages inside of me, burning brighter than the millon stars above my held high head

For when roaring seas

And sickness and cruel disease

Bring me to my mortal knees

The spirit inside

Still refuses to bow

For no knife of steel

Nor a warship's mighty keel

No signed-in-blood Devil's deal

Can break shake or steal

The power of passion

For objects of mind and spirit are stronger than the grindstone of trial that wears on the survivor

Take my safest home

Take my freshly tilled loam

Break all my vows set in stone

Take all that I own

You will not have my flame

My hands are like nails, hammered by passion; my memories are like a priceless heirloom, prized by my flame

For real passion moves

Like freshwater through stone grooves

Passion always seems to prove

Water may quench thirst

Yet my dry soul still thirsts

For all knives will wear

A ship's sail will someday tear

And all deals are broken

Only Death can rob

Me of my own passion

To own my passion would be to own me, to take my passion would be to doom me to a coward's death

Fire, fire, reddest flame

My soul calls and craves your name

Passion, passion, like a well

I will soak you up

My courage soon to swell

He whom is never thirsty cannot, will not, knows not, overcomes, prays not, refuses to bow