Bonfire

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He came back from the Liscome Bay Night
and its blinding death throes of light
he came back with those boys, blown up in his head,
worked the days, worked the fields, tossed in our bed
"I can never go back" is what he said
but they wouldn't leave his sight.

Fevered dreams, as he's counted the years,
some pills containing some fears,
he wonders and asks "Just what means most?",
walks In the mist like a lonely ghost,
while the river still runs to the staging post,
and we drowned in the wake of his tears.

Chorus
There isn't a cure, but I'll be here for sure,
and follow wherever he goes,
we still fight history, try to end misery,
and sometimes we soften the blows.

That timeline, it tied him up good,
wouldn't let him be where he should,
in the rising sun, those films would run,
couldn't let him hunt or have a gun,
death haunted him, but wouldn't come,
never calling his name, like it could.

In those bad lands, his steps seem to stay,
however far he had travelled away,
their cries ride the nights, by each neon light,
he always gives in to this hopeless fight,
I cannot pull him from their desperate plight
but hold out my arms each day.

Chorus
There isn't a cure, but I'll be here for sure,
and follow wherever he goes,
we still fight history, try to end misery,
and sometimes we soften the blows.