Phoenix Flower

The aroma of the phoenix-flower
drifts across the sea,
a lot of sweet with little sour,
it feels like home to me.
Back when I was ten years old,
The smell, it was so sweet,
It was there through warm and cold,
It lingered in the street.
But that sweet, it fades away,
As it burns my senses clean,
It feels like there’s an acid play,
When I turn twenty-three.
The smell now brings a bitter pain,
In my chest, it breathes,
What hope was there is forever slain,
It dies here with the leaves.
The meadows, they’re a wild-tame,
With my twenty-six year song,
The phoenix-flower sets its flame,
As it blends what’s right and wrong.
The fire licks the leaves of trees,
And has them cry in pain,
Their screams are carried on the breeze,
they have nothing left to gain.
The flower, in its vanity,
It feels the need to shine,
But when it drives insanity,
I felt I lost my mind.
In the end I learned to say,
That happy ends in rage,
I’ll tell you now, if I may,
That wisdom comes with age.