We exist in the space between God and the truth,
We hold no ambition for progress of the soul,
And we lack the spirit for suicide.

We cling to a cross,
It's blaze burns our hearts and hands.
Some let go. They Run.
But soon find the flames more comforting,
than the shadows they kept at bay.

Moths crowd a dying flame,
they know to embrace it is to die.
But death in its light seems better than the abyss beyond.
At least here, it seems to matter-
that they had lived at all.

Is a Viking funeral not such a noble act?
Set ablaze a boat full of ambitions, dreams,
power and possessions.
And cast it into the void.
Cast it into acceptance.