Fire, Fire
burning higher...
Over the hills
a crackling spire
Closer, Closer
The beast...
It's making animals
Crawl on thumbs
Faster, Faster
The phoenix....
wings spread far
Covering the ground
In the darkest tar.
Open mouth, Closing eyes
The wood is burning, can't you hear me cry?
Fire, Fire
burning higher
over the hills
God's quire
Of singing children
Wailing wood
people trudging with skins of suds.
With the rats and fleas
and charcoal sticks
A five digit number...
Ten...Sixty...six