Cajoling you with all my might
to wake amidst the firelight,
but you just seem to sleep so tight
and thus regret is mine tonight.
I couldn't save you, but I tried.
"It isn't my fault that you died,"
I tell myself; each time I lie
insisting the blame isn't mine.
The fire, it spread so damn quick.
Who knew a cord could be a wick
and take my loved ones in a lick.
I was a kid, and life is sick.
I should have dialed 9-1-1
or to the neighbors should have run,
but I just stood there, fire-stunned,
as you were engulfed by the sun.
The fire burned so intensely,
all three-hundred-sixty degrees,
and I yelled your name so loudly
-- they only had time to save me.
The arms grabbed me as fire stole
all of the warmth within my soul.
This fire made my world so cold
as stranger's voices all consoled.
Childhood burned before my eyes
and all that I could do was cry.
Innocence had been swept aside
in reasoning: I'm why you died.
I'm older now, and every day
in my head these events replay.
They make me wish I would've stayed
and burned with you into the fray.
