Returning Chain

The filth of perished evenings holds banquets for thieves.
And the wind is like wine with the sun in your eyes.
It whispers red worship that bleeds through your lies.
And the smoke of your shadow burns putrid through my veins.
I am nearly lifeless, seeping liquid of this wine.
I burnt all these bindings to become a returning chain.
Transforming into ash of former rage,
Becoming the filth of a forsaken flame.