How the prudish enjoy their image of fire;
Their vengeance against those honest in desire

They call forth fire to burn, consume and smite
And leave naught but ashes in the dark of night

But the secret of Art is that fire is life
A natural image for sex, passion and strife

But those with small minds just stare at the fire
And quiver in delight at the cold ash after

This is the reason they claim fire with malice:
Their fires have gone, leaving nothing but ashes

Penned by my hand on the 10th of Lupar, in the year 630 AF.