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John Ralston
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Gas & Matches
Wind, re-wind, wind, wind*
She drifts off to sleep.
Her head's full of vines.
Praying now to my sweet lord - to turn us back around like a ship back to the shore.
Is the fire out?
Did the Winter winds blow it back down?
Is the fire out?
Then bring it back somehow.
Or are we just living with gas & matches in our house of cards?
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Now we're burning up our history like the early morning mist disappearing to the sea. Turning on and off the lights to see what we've got left by the day and by the night.
Is the fire out? Did the Winter winds blow it back down? Is the fire out? Then bring it back somehow. Or are we just living with gas & matches in our house of cards?
So where'd you go? Can I follow you? I don't mind where you're going to...Can I follow you? But you don't even talk. No, you don't even say a word. Not a word.
Is the fire out? Did the Winter winds blow it back down? Is the fire out? Then bring it back right now. Or are we just living with gas & matches in our house of cards?
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