Beneath my feet a fire was set, and above my soul a frost was let to freeze.
And frozen I was moving with feet of flame, to a citadel of thorns, a fortress fortifying
the cold.
Protecting it from anything ablaze, any embers wouldn't be allowed to bellow below the surface.
The permafrost belowed the lake of lava, covered by a Neptune of frost.
And I continued to tread my burning feet, an Achilles of frost unable to attach and
prevent my journey from a halter.
I will not stop with feet ablaze, but a soul on fire.
I will reach this fortress, this citadel.
For some it is a bleak place of loneliness and sorrow.
But for me, I am coming back home.
This fortress of thorns.