Press To MECO - Smouldering Sticks

Man, I feel like a peasant in rags on a battlefield
Out and about for a daily morning stroll
I can't stop my mind coming back to the places
That's guaranteed to leave me full of holes

These arms are smouldering sticks and there's no one to blame
With a hand outstretched reaching into the flames

Yeah, we wax poetic at a cafe
Justify the need to reconcile
A tongue checks the same familiar ulcer
Knowing it's gonna be there all the while

These arms are smouldering sticks and there's no one to blame
With a hand outstretched reaching into the flames
And if we're breathing in smoke then I'll ignore the pain
With a hand outstretched reaching into the flames

Yeah, we wax poetic at a party
Justify the need to leave your mind
A snow capped vista, steady surface
I don't usually have the coin or the time

These arms are smouldering sticks and there's no one to blame
With a hand outstretched reaching into the flames
And if we're breathing in smoke then I'll ignore the pain
With a hand outstretched reaching into the flames