| I sit on my logs |
| I stare at no fire |
| I have no matches |
| but I have my pyre |
| she comes along |
| out of the mire |
| singing her song |
| it starts the fire |
| I stare at the flame |
| I stare at her eyes |
| myself I blame |
| I withhold no lies |
| |
| I bid her farewell |
| she walks away |
| it's good that she leaves |
| but I still wish she'd stay |
| |
| I stare at the flame |
| I blink back my tears |
| I think of her name |
| I think of my fears |
| |
| I stare at the fire |
| I watch it die |
| then in the darkness |
| there do I cry |
| |
| noone to see me |
| noone to care |
| alone in the night |
| where it is bare |
| |
| and so the night passes |
| and so do I |
| returning to darkness |
| from which came I |