no one ever came around telling you to bow down

to a world in flames and I can't erase what I saw

what's the point in running with fireworks around town

when you're tripping over it aim your grim and get down

we're burning alive inhaling the embers I barely remember

guess that's the art of it committing your crime with a fuel in the mind

for an arsonist

I don't know the damage til I see it myself

picking up the pieces I couldn't leave it

stuck my hand to the blaze to save what I felt

rubbing off the grit ooh my fingertips melt

but I should have known your capable damage

you storm then you vanish and that's the art of you you push it below until you explode

like an arsonist