Small crimes, smiles stretched on
old trees. Strike your match so
lightly. Watch the crooked
smoke rise. Empty praters to
heaven, just a mask of blue sky.
Look away to

Small crimes, kick the dog for
eating. Leave your old self
hungry, watch in coldest
pleasure. Tell the world what

Ever turns you on, is fine with me as long as
Matches don't get wet.
Warm winds calling me a coward make me smile,
They can't convince me now.
Burned prayers turn me on to nowhere sick and empty,
I don't feel so bad.
Ever turns around again, says to me softly:
"Start the fire now".
Small crimes sever used-up old considerations,
Freedoms aren't so great.
All fears, burn up.

They said, hold on to the stairway railing.
Meaning everything is meaning.
Something makes it hard to keep track.
Hold on, found me, tangled forest,
Growing got my dryest summer.
Small crimes held my match box tightly.

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