there’s a fire in the city;
it was not started by me,
whiskey drunk.
i am only dancing,
dancing in the ember-
snow.
the reds are killing
the blues, i am green,
my things can fit in
a backpack so i dance,
dance,
dance in the fire.
my eyes are fed
with the fire when
the wind blows and
if a big enough gust
comes along i
wont fight it.