Ben Nichols The Last Pale Light In The West
In my hands - I hold the ashes
In my veins - Black pitch runs
In my chest - The fire catches
In my way - A setting sun
Dark clouds - Gather round me
To the West - My soul is bound
But I will go - On ahead free
There is a light - Yet to be found
The last pale light in the west
And I ask - For no redemption
In this cold - And barren place
Still I see - faint reflection
And so by it - Guide my way
