In the icy cut of the January air, a flower bursts from the cold,

Stem still brittle, twisted on a dare, gently bleeding onto the snow.

The broken thorns in my blue blood veins burn like a winter from long past,

As the full wolf moon begins to wane, as the petals fall to ash.

Come alive, come alive, light a fire in my blood,

Come alive, come alive, on the wings of my midnight dove,

I have rolled the die, let the phoenix come alive.

The daffodils have hugged their knees and died ten long golden summers ago,

The ivy stumbles to its feet and cries, stubbornly clinging onto life like a stone.

The sun rises, my body still and frigid, helpless as the petals go up in a blaze

Begging for sanctuary, for the hearth of Brigid, getting frostbite to numb the pain.

Come alive, come alive, come patch this frozen wound,

Come alive, come alive, let the red roses bloom,

I have bid my time, let the phoenix come alive.

A gentle burn races past my scars as the thorns fall to the ground,

And racing up my purple-tinged arms is a cry, a bird-like sound.

Perhaps, it was a cautionary tale, I think as the petals fall down my throat,

But perhaps it’s time to shred this iron veil, watching the petals form a broken rose.

So, let the flames take these lies, let them swallow me whole,

Let the winter give way to springtime, let the wind turn my heart to coal,

See the blazing crimson flicker, feel the rough autumn burn

Hear the starry night whisper, speak aloud the muffled words, 

Speak,

Come alive, come alive, come alive, do you believe this?

Come alive, come alive, come alive, I can beat this.

I refuse to be blind, my burning wings will rise,

I will come alive, come alive, I am a phoenix.