On Tooting Broadway station
I knelt down and wept
My hands hit the concrete floor
Until my fingers bled
I will cut him out of my heart
I will leave these tears in pools
Tripped over these pourings, tripped over his feelings
I've cut him out of my heart
Burn, burn his clothes
Burn everything he owned
And the empty chamber left
I'll carry around as this hollowness
That drags in my voice
Burn, burn it all
Burn, burn it all
Benedictory fire, blessing of the burns
On Tooting Broadway station
I lay down and slept
The concrete for a pillow
Fingers in bandages
I cut him out I lie here dry
I unstiched the bindweed of love
Burn, burn his clothes
Burn, burn it all
My John of Arc
burn, burn it all
Give me his charred heart
Give me his fillings
And god, give me god to forgive me
Burn, burn it all
My John of Arc, fire fire
My John of Arc
fire, fire, fire, fire, fire, fire, fire, fire