the burning of homes

I can only tell it’s summer
By the burning of homes
Their smoke billows in the distance
That I have to go
And it’s the only way I’ll find the place
Where I grew and will continue to grow

How I love the smell of paint peeling
Traveling on the wind
Right along the water tower
I would climb once again
It would be after I found the house
As a child I played in
Abandoned I had left it
Soon to be abandoned once again

I would find a pile of old newspapers
Stacked in the kitchen
Yellowed and wrinkled like an old snakeskin
I would stuff them in the couch cushions
Drizzled with gasoline
And make a tail to the yard
Where the grass stood so green
And through the window panes
That’s where I would see
The place where I was born and raised
Erased from history
That’s when I would climb up
That tall water tower
To look down on the town
And see my house unfold like a flower

The firemen came to the scene
Put up the good fight
But they weren’t really needed because
The good Lord made it rain all night
Still the house lied in ruin
It wasn’t worth anything
But the price of its destruction
To me meant everything