Burnt tree and routine envy
Of the catastrophic route,
Blinding lights like synthesised cruelty.

The grass is dead and trampled,
Tangled with shoes and skin,
And I watch the light show,
The ambulance and the police cars with their bright colours.

Register me just so I can run away.
Take my hand, listen, listen,
I can hear the music again.
The rain will knock you down
And the wind will take you away,
Drop everything and stand in the road.

Watch the pretty lights crowd around you.
Electricity and paper,
Scorch marks on my arms,
This is the end, this is the end.
Take my hand.