They kneel beneath the amber gloom,Hands clasped like sinners facing doom.No screams—just hymns that curl and wail,A prayer set loose on a sulfur trail. Their eyes are lanterns, lit from sin,Each spark a secret kept within.Faith made flesh, and flesh made flame,They whisper God, but none the same. The air grows thick with sacred smoke,Each breath a promise that they choke.A thousand tongues of holy fire,Sing requiems for lost desire. Oh blessed heat, oh cursed choir,Your hearts are altars—your throats, a pyre.The world forgets what you became,But the ashes still recall your name. And somewhere past the candle’s hiss,Where dark…