The Dead Start Fires

I went on a three day vodka bender.
And when I awoke
God spoke to me,
Through the medium of a kettle,
Through the medium of the classified football results.
And this is what he said:

"You are dead my son,
You just haven’t stopped moving yet.
You are dead my son,
But here’s the clever part:
No more hunger, no more pain,
No more broken hearts.
Just believe in me and you will be saved,
Just believe and all your dreams will come true.
Whatever you want, whenever you want,
With whomsoever you desire.
You can do what the hell you want.
Because the dead start fires my son,
Yes the dead start fires."
And so I did.

I fired them up,
I fired them down,
Ran naked through the smouldering town,
Ran naked through the smouldering streets,
Where the lost and the lonely and the lovers meet.
Where the lunatics and the girls turn tricks.

Stole from children, stole from thieves,
Stole hopes and fears and tears and griefs.

Burned innocence and indolence,
Burned arrogance and ignorance.

Screwed you slowly, screwed in haste,
Screwed the whore in the gutter
With her skirt around her waist.
Crying "love you long time, nothing sweeter,
Lick my clit and call me Rita."
And so I did.

Because the dead will mess with your head my friend,
Yes the dead will mess with your head.

The dead will whisper in your ear,
And tell you arcane secrets.

The dead will lurk behind you at the dinner table,
Passing the port the wrong way.

The dead know where your heart is hidden,
But refuse to tell on pain of life.

The dead will watch your happiness slide into dust,
And offer no crumb of comfort.

The dead say:
“Thou shalt not fall in love so easily.”

The dead say:
“They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.”

But the dead have the consolation
Of the quiet and the flames.
Because the dead play games, my love,
Yes the dead play games.