Saying I'm not close to Forgiving You

A warped and twisted tongue,
Sings a song unsung.
Lights flicker and dance on these empty walls,
Trying to hold this flame before it falls.
Staring this winter storm all alone,
Constricted with the fact it's already flown.
Cold and dead inside,
Leaving nothing beside.
Showing death they why it's supposed to be,
And fearing the way it might see.
Holds nothing but useless power,
Unsparing and weak to be devoured.