You Love to Play with Fire


Darling, you like to play with fire.
To be drenched in gasoline is what you desire.
Late nights you never seem to tire
'Cause darling, you like to play with fire,
And pretend your slipping life weren't so dire,
So easily tempted by two pairs of speeding tire.

The voices pierce your mind like a wicked choir,
Followed by empty echoes of a solemn liar,
Then on with the demented shouts of pure ire.

You claim I was the one you truly admire
So I cry, oh why did you set me on fire?
I suppose because, darling, you like to play with fire.

The twisted plans you would conspire,
It was hopeless to even try and inspire.
I'd be lucky to see the smallest hint of desire.
You'd only have dreams of hanging by a wire,
Claiming never to wake from those as a crier.

But I beg you not to retire
From this life in which you fondle your fire.
Assuring you I was always here to inquire,
But as our old memories slowly expire,
I regret holding back my suppressed desire.
Joy is what I wish you would acquire,
But instead an imaginary pyre
Full of your famous fire
Because, darling, you love to play with fire.

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