Why burn poor and lonely?
Under a bowl, or under a lampshade,
or on the shelf beside the bed
where at night you lay turning like a door on its hinges
(first on your left side, then on your right side, then your left side again).
Why burn poor and lonely?
Tell all the stones we're gonna make a building.
We'll be cut into shape, and set into place
or if you'd rather be a window,
I'll gladly be the frame.
Reflecting any kind words,
we'll let in all the blame
(and ruin our reputation all the same)
So never mind our plan making.
We'll start living!
Anyway, aren't you unbearably sad?
Then why burn so poor and lonely?
We'll be like torches!
We'll be like torches!
We'll be like torches!
Oh, we'll be torches together, torches together!
We'll be like torches!
We'll be like torches
with whatever respect out tattered dignity demands.
Torches together, hand in hand.
Why pluck one string?
What good is just one note?
Oh, one string sounds fine I guess, and we were once 'one notes'.
We were lonely wheat, quietly ground into grain
(What light and momentary pain!)
So why this safe distance, this curious look?
Why tear out single pages when you can throw away the book?
Why pluck one string when you can strum the guitar?
Strum the guitar!
Strum the guitar!
Strum the guitar!
Strum the guitar!
With no beginning, with no end
Take down a guitar and strum the guitar!
Strum the guitar if you're afraid,
And I'm afraid and everyone's afraid
and everyone knows it, but we don't have to be afraid anymore.
You played the flute but no one was dancing,
You sang a sad song and none of us cried.
