They built you to be burned,
my gilded temple,
And everyone sobbed when you went up in flames.


For a week you were the jewel of Black Rock City,
A building but so much more, the world's largest harp,
more magnificent than the one I traded for my ticket.


You were our chosen sacrifice,
A holy place people visited to
cry, mourn the dead, and find peace.


With silver paint I wrote
about my heartache and loneliness
on your walls, as so many others before me had.


Standing around the funeral pyre,
We shared a moment of silence for those departed,
As you burned for our sins and were canonized.


The hush lasted until you were nothing more than:
the reflection of flames on a weeping face,
A charred spot in the desert, ash carried away by the wind.


Fire destroyed what was once beautiful,
but the embers of the temple danced in the pitch-black sky;
like an infinite number of flickering stars.