Fire¡¯s burn, turning into dust
|
What was precious, what was pretty paradise
|
Fire¡¯s turn, burning to the ground.
|
What was healthy what was holy, what was life.
|
If you think it¡¯s hot now,
|
If you hate that heat
|
You think it¡¯s bad now, wait and see,
|
You think it¡¯s close now as you sleep within your bed.
|
|
Check out the fire
|
Check out the fire
|
Check out the fire overhead.
|
|
Children grow, playing with their toys
|
Acting out their fairytales in play
|
Children play, growing with the noise
|
Of television teaching them the way,
|
And while you¡¯re sometimes scared now
|
If you see the flames
|
You think the smoke¡¯s from far away,
|
You read the papers, saying the fire will not spread
|
|
Repeat CHORUS
|
|
Sweet the light, glowing neon blue
|
Of havens offering shelter from the storm
|
Sweet the sound, crackling in the grate
|
Of firelight, welcoming and warm
|
But if you think it¡¯s safe now,
|
If you feel at ease
|
Your safety¡¯s hanging from a thread
|
Before you¡¯re happy, having locked your doors at night
|
|
Repeat CHORUS
|
|
-----------------
|
The Fire Overhead
|
| Eleanor McEvoy |
