From the doorway he stared into the heat,
and watching the Diamond Match wings of devils,
he thought about nothing.
And he was filled with love,
but loved by no one.
“What have I done, to turn and run?”
The smoke had carried up into the Midwest sky,
and it was snowing ash like a plague of horse flies,
oh my.
The air would choke a mouse in the blueberry warehouse
down 14th street, where the neighbors did meet,
when the house burnt down…
It was a terrible, terrible thing to do.
And no one knew who.
Don’t look back until the fire,
until the fire has swept its course.
And tell your shame that if you go down,
Then you’ll go down in the flames so go and grow.
Don’t look back when the ink runs
so quick you faint.
It’s a church of a Carbon black saint,
and it reigns over the pulpit trees.
If you’re frightened at night
when a thousand little eyes will spy wondering
“Why, Oh, why?”
Sleep, and say goodbye.
Don’t look back until the fire,
until the fire has swept its course.
And tell your shame that if you go down now,
then you’ll go down in the flames so go and grow.
Frightened by a thousand eyes,
he’s wondering, “Why?”
He’s wondering, “Why didn’t I die?”
Sleeping on a smoke alarm.
He didn’t mean harm by the farm fire.
Frightened by a thousand eyes,
he’s wondering, “Why?”
He’s wondering, “Why didn’t I die?”
Sleeping on a smoke alarm.
He didn’t mean harm.
James Alan & the Fire
Filligar
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