orange, and yellow and black flesh trees bloom fire, fire, fire.

i'm trapped inside this motel 6 on fire, fire, fire.

oh, those young fists clenched in the air make a million millionaires.

set fire to the ships on fire.

set fire to the hips on fire.

constellations strung up like barbed wire wire wire.

i'm drinking cement like it's going out of style, style, style.

those cold hooks, cemetary claws raking at the infant's jaws.

set fire to the horse on fire.

set fire to the dress on fire.

set fire to the stage on fire.

set fire to the stars on fire.

i'm tied to a seagull's back - yeah, fire, fire, fire.

and all those black-haired bandits try to lure me down 

with their songs and choir, choir, choir.

i'd rather shoot up a syringe filled with fire, fire, fire 

than go to bed with sounds so vacant and tired, tired, tired.

what's the sound of a cashing check?.

what's the sound of a gaf reflex?.

like speakers crushed beneath an empty tank 

blowing the ugly off an airbrushed face.

set fire to the drums on fire.

set fire to the lions on fire.

set fire to the house on fire.

set fire to the face on fire.