His heart is a furnace,
Burning ever, furiously

And in the brightness, there is no language,
To try and describe what it is he sees,
Within his eyes of steel

He laughs at life, and grits his teeth,
To bear the weight upon his chest

A road of Tankas beneath his feet,
To pave his way,
Both in and out of the wilderness

And to speak his sound, is most profound,
But it will never sound out quite the way you think

Because his word are but a memory,
A jarring song, which for some reason,
He never bothers to sing

So you can wait, and you can hope,
That steely glance you might just catch

But hold your breath beside a furnace,
Because all things good, and all things burning,
Will not forever burn nor last