The wind picked up, the fire spread

The bridges were left for dead

The northern skies looked like the end of days, 

the end of my days. 

A wake-up call to my rented room

It sounded like an alarm of inpending doom

to warn me, it’s only a matter of time. 

Before I burn.

I bought some wine and some paper cups, 

near your brothers school, where he picked you up

and I drove to a cemetery on a hill, on a hill. 

The news reports on the radio said it was getting worse

as the open air, fanned the flames

I couldn’t think of anywhere I would have rather been

to watch it all burn away. 

I’ll burn away. 

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liittlefox:

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wildstag:

untitled by miles-b on Flickr.