The original fire has died and gone. But the riot inside moves on. With a pen in one hand. Taking us and drugged on kerosine. Headed for a fire would find us something to believe. Wallowing round with dirty hands on wires. Singing songs in dischord choirs. Screaming in brail no temptress prize. could ever yield anything so real. The original fire has died and gone. But the riot inside moves on. Golden soldiers born much older. Than they'll ever live to be. Diving into a sea of hands. In a long forgotten city. When the rain falls ever after. The swinging vines hang dead in rafters. Blood rush to your head induces of laughter endlessly. The original fire has died and gone. But the riot inside moves on. The original fire has died and long gone. But the riot inside moves on. Can't explain it it was something to see. Can't contain something ever real. Ever real. [Solo]. Can't explain it it was something to see. Can't contain something so ever real. Ever real. The original fire has died and gone. But the riot inside moves on