Tekster: Bad Religion. Against The Grain. Turn On The Light.

I had a friend who kept a candle in his pocket
He used to touch it when the wind was blowin' high
I guess it made him feel like he could bluff the system
And when it flickered out we laid him down to die

I turn on the light
Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights
Yea, a beacon in the night
I'll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry, ya

And I'll construct a rack of tempered beams and trusses
And equip with just a million tiny suns
I'll install upon the room of my compartment
And place tinfoil on my floor and on my walls

Then I'll turn on the light
Turn on a million blinding brilliant white incendiary lights
A beacon in the night
I'll burn relentlessly until my juice runs dry

And I'll burn like a Roman fucking candle
(Burn)
Like a chasm in the night
(Burn)
For a miniscule duration
Ecstatic immolation, incorrigible delight