I stand upon the stage,
Thousands of angry faces stare upon me,
Accusations in their eyes.
The fire has spread and gone out of control,
My hands are bound,
I am trapped.

Upon the pyre,
I feel a single tear roll down my cheek,
But the heat from the flames makes it disappear.
As if it was never there,
As if they are trying to underline the truth,
It is too late for remorse.

I close my eyes,
But I can hear the crackle of the flames as they approach,
The executioner with a mask of black.
No axe to occupy his hands,
Instead a single torch,
And excitement stirs the crowd.

The order is given,
The people prepare for the show,
I lower my head in defeat.
Standing on a bonfire,
I watch the same match that I used to light my own fire,
Twirl towards my feet as it cackles.
And for the last time, I burn.