I believe in fires at midnight, when the dogs have all been fed.
A golden toddy on the mantle, a broken gun beneath the bed.
Silken mist outside the window, Frogs and newts slip in the dark.
Too much hurry ruins the body, I'll sit easy ... fan the spark.
Kindled by the dying embers of another working day.
Go upstairs take off your makeup, fold your clothes neatly away.
Me, I'll sit and write this love song as I all too seldom do.
Build a little fire this midnight.
It's good to be back home with you. (Fires At Midnight - Ian Anderson)
