In the shambles of the homestead,
broken light fights through the snowfall.
There's a fire burning so strong,
you can feel it from beneath the rubble.

Black sunlight shrouds the corpse of the Son,
a catalyst of things to come,
he lay like a silhouette against a blanket of snow,
breath comes out like plumes of smoke.

The tears freeze in his bloodshot eyes,
blood outlines his body,
as he watches for the stars,
twinkling in his frozen eyes.

And it's up in flames,
a catalyst of things to come,
a fire burning out of control,
is it in the rubble or in his heart?