My legs were stickin' to
A leather chair
The heat from the streets
Makin' waves in the air
The police talk to
Your husband on the phone
As they put out the fire
On your neighbors burnt up home

I twirled the baton outside
And noticed the look his daughter had
When her dad pulled that Tacoma
In the gravel drive
They forced themselves inside
And found the scattered piles of a
Carolina murder suicide

I'd seen him swing his wrapped up hands at
The bag in the garage
And I'd heard him shooting bottles
Off the top of a wooden box
Older brother ran away
Took a bag to a bus stop late at night
He was a squirrel killing boy
Who picked at splinters with a pocket knife

The house collapsed
But the fire kept on burning at the scraps
And I wondered if grief could break you in half
When the gossip died
And the ruins rotted away in the rain
And the fruit flies went to sleep in the drain