Ash and Gasoline by ☓irbaf

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⚡ ACT I — THE SPARK  
Scene 2 — ASH AND GASOLINE

The city still smokes long after the fire died.  
Riot scavenges the ruins, dragging her boots through the bones of the old world.  
Every flicker of light reminds her of what they burned to build their paradise.  
She was born in the ashes, but the ashes still whisper.  
And she listens.
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The sky’s a bruise that never heals.
I breathe rust,
drink smoke,
sleep next to ghosts that don’t shut up.
Welcome to paradise —
built by the dead,
inherited by the pissed.

Boots crack glass, streets like veins,
plastic bones and billboard stains.
A child’s toy melted in the dirt,
still smiling through the hurt.
Dinner’s dust, breakfast’s ash,
water tastes like iron and trash.
I talk to walls — they don’t reply,
but they echo when I lie.

You had oceans, we got drought.
You built heaven — we burned out.

Ash and gasoline — that’s all your love left me.
Ash and gasoline — I wear your legacy.
Ash and gasoline — I breathe your prophecy.
Ash and gasoline — I’m what you meant to be.

Found a photo — a girl with light,
her smile’s clean, her hands are white.
Maybe that’s me in another frame,
before your greed forgot her name.
I dream of skies that don’t cough black,
of rivers that don’t choke us back.
But I wake to steel and bone,
singing lullabies to a dying drone.

You fed the earth to your engines,
then blamed the smoke when it screamed.
You crowned your gods with plastic,
called it progress — called it dream.
Now we crawl through your kingdom,
built on rot and gasoline.
We are your kids —
and your fucking ghosts.

They built their paradise in fire,
left us nothing but the smoke.
I walk their graves in circles,
listening to the things they broke.

The walls still whisper their names,
but not one ever answers back.
The sky remembers what they did —
it rains oil, it bleeds black.

You made this world — I live in it.
You burned the sun — I breathe in it.
You left the void — I scream in it.
And I’m still not done.

Ash and gasoline — that’s all your love left me.
Ash and gasoline — the world forgot to bleed.
Ash and gasoline — I light what’s left of me.
Ash and gasoline —
and still, I breathe.

[Outro – Spoken / fading into static]

The wind sings like it remembers.
I don’t.

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### ⚡ ACT I — THE SPARK Scene 2 — ASH AND GASOLINE The city still smokes long after the fire died. Riot scavenges the ruins, dragging her boots through the bones of the old world. Every flicker of light reminds her of what they burned to build their paradise. She was born in the ashes, but the ashes still whisper. And she listens. ### The sky’s a bruise that never heals. I breathe rust, drink smoke, sleep next to ghosts that don’t shut up. Welcome to paradise — built by the dead, inherited by the pissed. Boots crack glass, streets like veins, plastic bones and billboard stains. A child’s toy melted in the dirt, still smiling through the hurt. Dinner’s dust, breakfast’s ash, water tastes like iron and trash. I talk to walls — they don’t reply, but they echo when I lie. You had oceans, we got drought. You built heaven — we burned out. Ash and gasoline — that’s all your love left me. Ash and gasoline — I wear your legacy. Ash and gasoline — I breathe your prophecy. Ash and gasoline — I’m what you meant to be. Found a photo — a girl with light, her smile’s clean, her hands are white. Maybe that’s me in another frame, before your greed forgot her name. I dream of skies that don’t cough black, of rivers that don’t choke us back. But I wake to steel and bone, singing lullabies to a dying drone. You fed the earth to your engines, then blamed the smoke when it screamed. You crowned your gods with plastic, called it progress — called it dream. Now we crawl through your kingdom, built on rot and gasoline. We are your kids — and your fucking ghosts. They built their paradise in fire, left us nothing but the smoke. I walk their graves in circles, listening to the things they broke. The walls still whisper their names, but not one ever answers back. The sky remembers what they did — it rains oil, it bleeds black. You made this world — I live in it. You burned the sun — I breathe in it. You left the void — I scream in it. And I’m still not done. Ash and gasoline — that’s all your love left me. Ash and gasoline — the world forgot to bleed. Ash and gasoline — I light what’s left of me. Ash and gasoline — and still, I breathe. [Outro – Spoken / fading into static] The wind sings like it remembers. I don’t. © 2025 Xirbaf. All rights reserved.

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