TURN ON THE LIGHT


I had a friend who kept a candle in his pocket,
He used to touch it when the wind was blowing high,
I guess it made him feel like he could buck the system
And when it flickered out we laid him down to die,
Turn on the light,
Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights
A beacon in the night,
I'll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry
I'll construct a rack of tempered beams and trusses
And equip it with a million tiny suns,
I'll install upon the roof of my compartment
And place tinfoil on my floor and on my walls,
Then I'll turn on the light . . .
And I'll burn like a roman fucking candle,
Like a chasm in the night,
For a miniscule duration,
Ecstatic immolation,
Incorrigible delight. 

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