Feverfew The Night The Whole World Caught Fire
At sunrise the seagulls all swarm around the steeple of
the church that stands tall in the middle of town. It's
six on a Sunday and babies are crying, their mothers
caught lying awake in their beds saying, 'Not yet. Not
yet. We could paint it white, under the disguise of
infinite light.' Now everyone's tired in this tiny town
and resentment grows up from way deep underground. While
the faucets keep leaking and the floorboards keep
creaking, we all lie and listen to the symphonic sounds
that say, 'You know it's happening later tonight. So, you
savor the minutes you usually fight. We all had a hand in
this brilliant disease. We all fed the cause of
catastrophe.' You don't know what you see when it
stretches far enough away from me. And it seems our love
will have too soon expired, the night the whole world
caught on fire. Now the dust settles down from the cold,
cloudy air. And the few men left standing just silently
stare at the forests that glow with the forty-foot flames
and the ocean that's screaming the sound of your name.
So, I pick up a shovel-- the last thing to do-- and I dig
a great hole and go in search of you.
