The Alarm Sounds

The alarm sounds and calls their names, To stand and fight the smoke and flames, They don their heavy turnout gear, To meet the flames and face their fear, Driving trucks with red lights glaring, Into city streets with sirens blaring, They soon find a house on fire, And lay lines they will require, Fighting fire in a deadly game, Streaming water onto the flame, With pounding hearts they crawl through heat, To find lost soles without retreat, When the flames die and all are safe, they drive their truck back to their base, They wash it down and make it shine, and neatly roll each water line, They swap stories and write their notes, and tumble dry their turnout coats, They hang their gear upon the wall, and wait to hear another call,