These streets are now my dis-ease Moon, smoking red Trees bent Wind dripping Over my head… Ohhh… Each step takes me closer To that whip across my back Fist in my eye socket— A grave holding the dead Blood streaming slowly Salt, well warm with dread Finds its way onto my lips Bruises are my only bed But you can’t see this! Only the traps And the sirens In my head! In my head… Rain keeps pouring Mocking me instead While these tears keep hiding What I could never say Branches in the gutter Washed away beneath my feet What good is anything If there's nothing left in me? I can have all the matches in the world… All the wood in the world… And lighter fluid— But none of it is any good… If I can't burn it Matches— Wood— Lighter fluid— I've got everything I need! Everything I need! Everything I need! But none of it— None of it— Is any good… If I can't burn it. How do you start a fire When you can't feel the heat? Can't feel the heat… How do you burn When you already feel defeat? Feel defeat… And still— Nothing. I’m not trying to To recreate the fire! I'm trying… To catch it— When it happens! These streets are now my dis-ease… Moon smoking red… Trees bent… Wind dripping… Over my head… Over my head… I can have all the matches… All the wood… All the lighter fluid… But none of it is any good— If I can't burn it! I'm not trying To recreate the fire I'm just trying— To hold on— Until I find the cure
