OUR HOUSE IS BURNIN'

Copyright 1996

by Herbert W. Robinson

Swarms of blackened plumes leach up to coat the ceiling.

While flames dance off basement floorboards,

Mercuric crimson breathing acid claws.

As air becomes poison and our lives become small,

The shadow of an arsonist slinks along the wall.

 

 

Our house is burnin'. Phosphor devils circlin'

And licking at our toes.

Our house is burnin'. Furtive hands are lurkin',

And we don't even know.

 

 

Is there someone else who knows it's not a movie?

They just shrug, and switch the channel.

They see it spreading, but they think they're safe.

Won't catch the kids napping.

Couldn't be a real blaze.

The laughs and giggles from their rooms

couldn't be erased.

 

 

Our house is burnin'. Phosphor devils circlin'

And licking at our toes.

Our house is burnin'. Furtive hands are lurkin',

And we don't even know.

 

It's plutonium at Rocky Flats.

It was chlorine at Bhopal.

Greed leaps up around us behind the silence of Chernobyl's walls.

 

 

Our house is burnin'. Phosphor devils circlin'

And licking at our toes.

Our house is burnin'. Furtive hands are lurkin',

And we don't even know.