What comes from ashes, you would know. I've seen you there, fire in your eyes. Your modesty allows me slow Pursuit, perhaps I should disguise My tongue's intentions in a song, Or dance my way inside your head And bring you back where you belong-- Oak headboard, my ancestral bed. You may see me, firewalking fool-- Head topped with bells, a rubber soul-- Salute you with a burnished tool, Your misused heart my certain goal. Now close your eyes, imagine me In your embrace, in ecstacy.