I've been burned
And risen again
Proud of my new coat
Of feathers
I've been burned again
And risen
Proud of my new coat of feathers
And unafraid of fire.
 

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The trick of the phoenix
Is that he didn't burn.
He flew away while your eyes
Were blinded by the fire,
And back again while smoke
Obscured your vision,
Leaving you searching for explanation
Amongst the ashes.
 

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We die a million deaths each day.
The death of all those other ways
we could have taken.

The death of dreams each moment we
discard the possibility
we could have made them.

If we stopped breathing every time
another aspect of us died,
there'd be no breathing.

All we can do to justify
this situation, make it right,
is be a phoenix.

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