There’s a flame in his eyes, and you don’t like the flame

The flame, and the ignition you can never predict, is fun, but you don’t trust it

The flame’s not usually there, of course; he’s quiet usually

But the flame has come again, and now all you can do it watch it burn

He’s erratic, you muse to nobody

And you don’t like the flame

He hates the flame even more

He’s ashamed of the flame, and the thigns he does as he burns

For to burn is to light the night, and guide the lost, and burn the loving, and scorch the earth

And nobody likes to burn