Some days I feel trapped In these walls of wood Paint, plaster, and lath How I wish I could Find myself a match Wouldn't it feel good To leave a pile of ash where these walls stood? High-tide tempest-tossed Maybe we might drown Babe it wouldn't cost Much to leave this town Go get ourselves lost Leave nothing to be found But burnt exhaust and rubber on the ground We could turn this house into a pyre A funeral for all our old desires A little spark The engine starts The spinning of the tires Maybe we just need a little fire Some nights it gets cold Sleeping in this bed This house is getting old The drafts they seem to get Down into your bones But don't get up just yet I'm yours to hold lets build a fire instead Let's set this frame aflame and fan it higher The mattress springs will sing our quiet choir We could turn these sheets to burn The smoke a rising spire Maybe we just need a little fire Maybe we just need a little fire Maybe we just need a little... (End)