Cracked sun now lost to skies. Wings torn to never fly to heights of the lords again. Yet you stand, a smile on your face, hand out stretched to the weary sinners of your Children. Oh Gracious and incandescent Mother, lost are we without you.   But, dress as red as wine under these poisoned skies, we see you, we weep at your loss. Lament we will not, for we know the sun in your wings will guide us home yet again. For while they could take you wings, your power, your life and Children.   They couldn't take your hands, your mind. As we rise from the ashes, we know our Phoenix Mother will burn away the ashes of this fallen world and grace our skies once more with her beauty.   Mother Syn, May your light guide us.