Tag Archives: fire


And so I thought, “If a picture paints a thousand words, how many does a song paint?” and went with that. I’ve been meaning to write more music lately, but I’ve also had a lot on my mind about the way that words work in music, as opposed to poetry. Unlike poems, which are often enhanced by specifics, song lyrics in general tend to rely on pronouns and ambiguity, allowing the listener to apply his or her own meaning to the words. Sometimes, even the cheesiest, most apoetic lines sound profound, and that’s what I tried to do here (I used to write lyrics like “translucent and impermanent,” but that never got me anywhere); I tried writing on 3 different topics at once, intentionally leaving it vague so that a listener might bring him or herself into it. An MP3 should be posted by the end of the day (Eastern Standard time). Unless I get drunk and forget, which is entirely possible.

For forty days, I fasted you,
Liquid sustenance to help me make it through.
A friend of fire, burning with desire, yours and mine,
but this water keeps on turning into wine

Spent forty nights awake through this,
Starved for comfort, stars, and every goodbye kiss.
This desert bed, these grains of sand where I should rest my head, just like a fool,
a wanderer with nothing left to lose.

Ooh, you carry this around
Ooh, I bury myself deeper underground
Ooh, your voice the only sound that I can hear
It echoes every time you disappear

Ooh, I carry this around
Ooh, you bury yourself deeper underground
Ooh, your voice the only song I want to hear
and I found it on the day you disappeared

For forty days, I fasted you,
Liquid sustenance to help me make it through.
If you never hear a word of this again, let’s make it clear
that I lost you on the day I disappeared.

Like the song never ended.

I remember us as wildfires.

Summer lights dancing through the trees.

Our parents were dry leaves and cigarettes.

Our children were ash and smoke, the kind that won’t leave your clothes for days.

The radio played cheap beer by the case while we sipped old punk songs and plucked the notes to “El Scorcho” on our gin buckets.

Our music singed the corners of our coat pockets while we smoldered dead branches like souvenirs of last year.

We scribbled notes to the future on each other’s tongues and taped forties to our hands like boxing gloves for our souls.

We were tired as hell but we danced all night anyway.

Just because.

We flicked and floated as cinders on the breeze and our glass bottle hearts broke shiny like they never glittered to begin with.

Our taste buds learned the difference between cute girl and light beer but didn’t care for one more than the other.

If both could be had, then all the better.

Our truth poured out as poorly mixed drinks and we flowed from cup to cup with ease.

We woke with good ideas turned ugly mistakes turned righteous crusades.

Our darkness was outside.

We felt warm beneath it like blankets wrapped with care.

Tucked and neat.

We glowed on the inside.

Our whiskey-warmed heartbeats found the drum track and thumped in unison.

The bass line pumped infatuation through our capillaries and with small cuts we bled romance as blood brothers.

The fire popped champagne and crackled sing-song.

Embers were snowflakes on our tongues, lightning bugs in a jar.

We decided that’s all we were.

Just lightning bugs in jar.

Dancing in the moonlight.

Singing out a song.

Still, our fire smiled wide like we never broke to begin with.

Like it didn’t even matter.

Like the song never ended.