Wake, the sky is bleeding gold,
my ribs are drums, your name the beat.
We cracked the night, let the cold
run barefoot through our burning street.
Breathe, the sirens call us saints,
laughing in the echo of the crash.
Every scar we wear, we paint—
tomorrow’s anthem rising from the ash.
So wake, wake, the dark is done;
our shadows blink, the fire’s ours.
Run, run into the sun—
we are the sparks that outlive stars.