Chapter 02 · 5 min 33 sec
Noiraciel - Ashes of Heaven
What remains when the sacred burns — the strange holiness of wreckage.
Lyric Video
Lyric Video
Lyrics· 432 words
[Intro] Ooh Ooh Ooh Ashes of heaven
[Verse 1] The sky came down in shards of gold A dying myth, a lie once told The gates were burning, slow and pale Like holy light too weak to stay
I felt the dust upon my skin Like all of time collapsing in The stars were falling one by one And silence swallowed every sun
[Pre-Chorus] No choirs calling No voices left Only the ruin Inside my chest If this is ending Then let it begin With ashes of heaven Falling again
[Chorus] We are the ashes of heaven Scattered in fire, carried by night Born from the end of devotion Still reaching up for the light Out of the wreckage we rise now Out of the silence we learn If paradise died above us Then let the whole sky burn
[Post-Chorus] Ashes of heaven Ashes of heaven Falling through me tonight
[Verse 2] The towers echoed with the sound Of broken halos hitting ground A thousand prayers without a home Drifting like smoke through flesh and bone
My wings were heavy, torn and wide Still full of thunder deep inside I walked through ruins dressed in flame And nothing in me looked away
[Pre-Chorus] No god to answer No hand to guide Only the embers I kept alive If faith is over Then let it end With ashes of heaven Falling again
[Chorus] We are the ashes of heaven Scattered in fire, carried by night Born from the end of devotion Still reaching up for the light Out of the wreckage we rise now Out of the silence we learn If paradise died above us Then let the whole sky burn
[Bridge] Piano in the distance Cold and clear Like memory refusing To disappear
Strings like oceans Pulling me under Brass like judgment Far away thunder
I held the dust Like it could speak I held the dark Like it was me And in the last glow Before the fall I heard the dead stars Call my name through it all
[Build] Higher Through the smoke and fire Higher Through the funeral choir Higher Even if the angels drown I will not go down
[Final Chorus] We are the ashes of heaven Scattered in fire, carried by night Born from the end of devotion Still becoming more than light Out of the wreckage we rise now No longer praying to return If paradise died above us Then let the whole sky burn
[Outro] Ashes of heaven On my tongue Ashes of heaven In my lungs Ashes of heaven Still glowing in the dark
Short Story
*A story about the strange holiness found in wreckage*
The wildfire took the whole north field, the one with the old apple trees that had stood since before anyone's grandparents were born. Tomás stood at the edge of the blackened ground the morning after, certain that something irreplaceable had simply ended.
"It looks like the end of the world," he told his uncle, who farmed the land beside theirs.
His uncle, who had seen three such fires in his long life, shook his head slowly. "It looks like an ending. It isn't the same thing." He walked out onto the still-warm ash with Tomás trailing behind, pointing at the blackened ground. "Ash isn't nothing, you know. It's the most fertile thing there is. Everything that burned is still here — just changed into something the soil can finally use."
"The trees are gone, though. Real things. Not just changed into ash. Gone."
"Yes," his uncle agreed, more gently. "Some things really are gone, and you're allowed to grieve them honestly, without me talking you out of it. But watch this ground in the spring. I've seen it before."
Tomás didn't believe him until April, when the north field came up green in a way it never had before — wildflowers that hadn't bloomed there in living memory, suddenly thriving in soil that the fire had cracked open and fed. The new apple saplings his family planted that spring grew faster than any orchard Tomás had ever helped tend.
"How is it more alive than before?" he asked, kneeling in the new grass.
"Because some kinds of growth can only happen after something burns all the way down," his uncle said. "Not every fire is destruction without purpose. Sometimes the wreckage is the first half of something we can't see the whole shape of yet."
Tomás carried that field with him the rest of his life — not as proof that fire was good, exactly, but as proof that an ending and a wreckage were not always the final word. Sometimes they were simply the soil, quietly getting ready for what came next.
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*Not every loss is only loss. Sometimes what looks like ruin is the ground itself, clearing space for something it could not have grown any other way.*
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