Kiln street - Ode to Lynch

This fire coursing through my veins
entered uninvited but welcome to stay
reflected on the sky, something was lost
walk with me blind, hands made of frost

The flames in the wind but the rivers within
flowing beneath these hollow streets
the fire still burns, unbothered and free

Followed to a gate, a sycamore tree
there is no lock and there is no key
this wooden world
one longs to see
a blaze burning bright
fire walk with me

Man made of stone
once crafted from flame
now walks alone
forgotten his name

Flower tiles yearn
to play a game
masters of nothing
cured in the blaze