strike a match to the crickets
and kerosine douse the sleeping bag
their hum is not a metronome
your dreams are not burning

fingers wet (with sweat?)
these works were not meant for daylight
submerged under moon's tide
let us make love instead of dreaming it
let us make our own rythm for the crickets to hum to

backwoods are the perfect place to get lost
as bark crackles life into night sky
let us singe skin as untamed flames

this tent is no holy place
more like a furnace
so for tonight
let's burn

with the crackling bark
let's start a forest fire

strike a match to the crickets
and kerosine douse the sleeping bag
their hum is not a metronome
reality is burning
*let's burn