Far Out (Pts 1, 2 and 3)
Pt 1
Far out, they cried
when I stood on cinders,
feet combusting,
like it was clever;
even though water
sprinkled the joint,
coals sizzled,
flesh melted, spat;
chunks of sinew,
popped like corn.
Timbers smoked,
glowed like hell;
arms blackened, curled
crossed over chests.
I’m burning, I told
the voices,
need a little help;
far out, far out, they said,
the ghosts of those
burned on the bed,
those who were dead
surely could not
have spoken.
Of course, it was control,
a newsflash in the earpiece,
I reasoned.
Fire out, they meant,
fire out.
Well, not from where
I’m standing.
What fire are you at?
Pt 2
I never saved a soul,
bodies black as coal,
skin all burned to soot
as in a furnace put.
Someone lit the fuse,
ran off in running shoes,
never looking back,
some pyromaniac.
Called out the brigade,
as part of their charade,
how were they to guess
he gave the wrong address.
I happened here by chance,
by sheer happenstance,
only here by luck
from servicing the truck.
Now in the searing blaze
my eyes begin to glaze,
burning here alone,
I’m dying on my own.
Pt 3
Far out, far out, copy?
Far not out.
Floor’s gone, roof ablaze,
oxygen going,
perspex melting,
eyes liquefying.
nasal hair charring.
The call, that firebug made,
I remember,
all faked concern,
dramatic fear, I picked up
on the way here.
Thought this was it,
realised too late
wrong side of town;
the cavalry ain't coming.
My last thoughts,
before the ceiling rains
napalm death,
is what makes a thing
like him?
What sick, twisted, madness?
In the name of God, what?
Far out? Far out?
Yeah, far out alright…
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2006
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