Numbing comfort bubbles (are),
tools of a privileged struggle,
like staring, lost, into the flames.
They keep me warm,
so; throw on the bodies, the trees,
it's all the same.
There's one flowing stream
that never dries up,
babbling drugs sports desire.
If I don't douse myself
from this stream, babbling bubbles,
I'll catch on fire.
But then, eventually,
we all burn on His pyre.
Cold comfort,
keeping others warm.