When there's nothing left to burn,
Sometimes you have to set yourself on fire,
And you feel queasy down to your toes,
And you know that your hands are shaking,
But even as the scent of burning flesh fills the air,
You can sense the anger flooding away,
The bitterness leaving in little drips through your
Ears and mouth, bleeding away 'till there's nothing left.
And it starts to subside, and you can continue, you
Can go on in the hellish, sorry excuse for what you call life.