strike the match the flame is death
the wind is march in the chattering breath
and the flickering light spreads on the heath
and it’s burn, strange world, burn.
smoke is fear in the rabbits eyes
as the blood runs hot and the body dies
and the moment of truth is burned with lies
and it’s burn, strange world, burn.
see the figure in the flames
he’s a nameless man with a myriad names
a man who kills but no-one blames
and it’s burn, strange world, burn.
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