The Arsonist Choir

I live within the arsonists choir, singing praises for raging fire.

We see it burn, we hear its call, we sing the fire’s blazing song.

I live within the arsonists choir and I am next, the chosen pyre.

Hear my song, sing my praise, until I am gone and only ash remains.

I do burn, I do rage, I am fire, the eternal blaze.

Burnt to ash, blackened dust, my praises sang by the arsonist choir.

That congregation of those waiting to embrace conflagration.

Feel the rage, feed the fire, embrace the pain, hold the flame.

Until not remains but ash and praise, in this…

The arsonist’s choir, our funeral pyre.


So The Foo Fighters caused this one, as it was inspired by their song “Something From Nothing” so figured I’d mention that one. Good song that one.


Need a light?

You know, I used to play with my lighter a lot. Flicking it open and shut, lighting it when I was scared. Heh, watching that persistent little flame dance always made me feel a little bit more secure. Oh other knew of this habit, always told me it’d be bite me in the ass eventually.

It’s funny in a way, what happened. On my way to an interview, or was it a date? A meeting? It’s all hazy now apart from the fire, but just outside of the gas station, that one with the food place attached? You know it, maybe, is it still there? Oh well, I got splashed as a car, or something, went by, soaking my front side. God, I remember being so pissed I started flicking my zippo, trying to calm down. That’s how it started, then I got the bus stop.

You see, I was a smoker, pissed off, with ample cigs and a lighter. How else to calm down? I lit up.

Oh boy did I light up. I remember the flames, all up the front of my suit, eating through my silk undershirt, melting it to my skin, it hurt to much to scream, all that fire, and the smell of flesh and a cigarette. Hah, they were right about two things, my Zippo habit, and that smoking would be my end.

Oh well, wait, do you need a light for that? Your hands are shaking, here, let me get that for you.