the kindling sings it sings a lonely song it warms my arms and sends a signal to the others further down the river bend i smell the smoke i smell the sweet sweet smoke it stings my eyes arrests and pacifies forever carving dancing on a grave i will be the first to know my view can stretch for miles over these landlocked lines there's treasure in the trees for me and everyone who knows me but everything is turning sour and gaining on me every hour there is fire in the lookout tower these sun starved bugs are hiding in the sand in shallow holes that i can't fit my hand the metaphor keeps crawling out my ears until i sleep the kindling sings to me an endless verse a smoking elegy that disappears like it was never said oh i will be the first to know my view can stretch for miles over these landlocked lines there's treasure in the trees for me and everyone who knows me but everything is turning sour and gaining on me every hour there is fire in the lookout tower so throw me up some old old rope something to hold on and hope there is fire in the lookout tower.
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