I burned my thumb in the dark
boiling oil for toil
and smelt the rot
of my soul gone spoiled.
For my culture showed
the way the river should flow
but that wasn't the way
my heart had grown to know.
And in a rage of fiery fever
and anger boiled to the brim
Overflowing into the stream of time
and my soul so much fed up with him
So I boil this oil to stop that toil
and while he sleeps angels creep
and he will hear the bells of fire
the heat of oil,he will hear, I swear
For tonight this angel creeps.