My heart is the furnace,
That feeds on my blood,
My lungs are the bellows,
Stoking the flames,
The mere act of being,
Is all consuming,
With life and death hidden,
Throughout the veins.
Heart as furnace,
Lungs as bellows,
Pull the blood through,
And burn it away,
Transfusions are needed,
To prolong the process,
Yet finding the outcome,
Is always the same.
Heart of furnace,
Lungs of bellows,
The heat of living,
Is what we have gained,
We carry it with us,
In the guise of knowledge,
Yet fearfully speaking,
It’s smoldering name.