Throwing Muses. Red Heaven. Firepile. Zeneszám

This is him, when I
When I, I begin

Call him tied, call him taken
Call him anything but shaken
Call him wasted, call him shaved
Call him anything but made
Call that firepile a home

Don't give away the end
I come back, I rush to wait
Where the pavement starts to crack
I put my foot down

The sidewalk's so hot
The sidewalk's so hot

Think of all the junk
I could lay my hands on
Purify my heart

That firepile's your home

Your baby's running faster
Count the times I left my clothes out
Count the tires one more time
Count the times I let the air out

That firepile's your home
And you're mine