Burnt to the ground
We stood, firing the tiger torch
Shit tank, shit, hose, and all.
A blue, flaming, putrid stain
On this: the smould’ring pile of garden waste
The anarchist cried in proclamation that he would cure us
Our lives on the line
Engulfed and cursed
The lamb in hell.
The lamb in heaven.
Cleansed by fire.
I believe we’ll live to see another day
The train rattles on,
Screeching like a robotic banshee
Tearing through the mountain
Grinding down the valley
The bell tolls time and time again.