It was a hurting tune, resigned, a cry of heartache for all in the world that fell apart. As ash rose black against the brilliant sky, Fire's fiddle cried out for the dead, and for the living who stay behind to say goodbye.
While I was looking the other way your fire went outLeft me with cinders to kick into dustWhat a waste of the wonder you wereIn my living fire I will keep your scorn and mineIn my living fire I will keep your heartache and mineAt the disgrace of a waste of a life
How unjust then to meet that person you love, and be kept away from them only because ones bed is made of hay , and the other, feathers.
Waste is Criminal.
When Brocker arrived he took her hands and held them to his face and cried into them.