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I had a friend who kept a candle in his pocket |
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He used to touch it when the wind was blowin' high |
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I guess it made him feel like he could bluff the system |
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And when it flickered out we laid him down to die |
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I turn on the light |
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Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights |
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Yea, a beacon in the night |
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I'll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry, ya |
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And I'll construct a rack of tempered beams and trusses |
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And equip with just a million tiny suns |
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I'll install upon the room of my compartment |
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And place tinfoil on my floor and on my walls |
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Then I'll turn on the light |
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Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights |
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A beacon in the night |
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I'll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry |
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And I'll burn like a Roman fucking candle |
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(Burn) |
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Like a chasm in the night |
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(Burn) |
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For a miniscule duration |
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Ecstatic immolation, incorrigible delight |
