The Devil's Triumph

So I hear of a thing, called fire in your soul,
It may build you up, but you’re left with a hole.
So what do you do, when you give up your life,
You sit and you cry, every single night.
Who cares what you do, they never really know,
About the fire in your eyes, and the smoke in your soul.
You call out for help, you look for a line,
But in the end, all you get, is nobody’s time.
You scratch and you scrape, for the merest of sight,
But your eyes are so clouded, that you can’t see the light.
Others think they’ve helped, but the truth of it all,
Is all that they do, is nothing at all.
So you look to the cross, for guidance and strength,
But all you see is darkness, and of Satan you think.
That fire that once lived, is as dead as the match,
Never again to be lit, never is fact.