Acetylene

This is not a home
This is an apartment
Surrounded by the things accumulated here
This is not a dream
This is disappointment
Pop a cork alone to toast another year
Baby, we could burn so free
If only you would turn your acetylene on me
Sorta like a cell
Kinda like a prison
Spend a lot of time in solitary there
Pamphlet on the door
Declaring he is risen
Too far out to know, too far gone to care
Baby, we could burn so free
If only you would turn your acetylene on me