I remember [?] for the first time
When I was thirteen years old
A large field burning outside Damascus
In the grips of October's cold
All the books in a boxwood pine
Who among us can deny
We love a good fire
We love a good fire
I made eyes with a girl whose name
I cannot really remember
Then again that was some thirty years ago
And our words have been lost to the tender
All the books in a boxwood pine
Who among us can deny
We love a good fire
We love a good fire
Like I'm playing with the words
I knew right then that I'd been had
Like a lamb among the wolves
I knew right then that I'd been had
This rusted hatchet weighs
Much too heavy in the hand
And all across my conscious
I know longer trees do stand
Sycamore, oak and ash
Nothing in this world can ever last
Can ever last
Now a geezer's nightmare
Slowly unfolds
The sound of English rain
Pisses on the coals
All the books in a boxwood pine
Who among us can deny
We love a good fire
We love a good fire
We love a good fire
Who doesn't love a good fire?