Nineteen

Is it love of rain, or a burning pyre, that you're against, you sit in the gloom, listening to the criers, no one jumps the queque, seeing problems look away, they pester you for hire, it's never easy or brave, to do what you do, your eyes seek the tide, they were never blue, an offering to the saved, like an ice cold fish wire, is this what you gave, whispering at someone's due, here's my coat to lie in, my song is true, not defined by trains, nor tongues of a liar, the miracle I crave, my life on fire.