you can't be with the dead and the living - & make a bed in the middle of nowhere - try & bridge that gap in your dreams - in the long long night - the city's a permanent rumble - a subtle quake and a distant drone - the seasons have names - but they all look the same - black pearls on a thread
i'm a good son and my father's a firedancer - when i'm done with the fire i'll dance the ashes away - i say who am i to deserve this but i get no answer - but i'm a firedancer too ? i know anyway
i remember the frail green of spring - & it makes me cling to the future - like a bird of passage left behind - clings to the wind