Hello matchbox, my old friend
I came to strike with you again
And now I see the fire slowly creeping
Surprising people while they are sleeping
And the liquid that was spilled on my hands
Still remains
and has the smell of gas'line.

In manic craze I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
In the darkness of the downtown night
I turned my trenchcoat collar up and high
And prepared - Molotov Cocktail out of sight
That lit the night
And spred the smell of gas'line.

And in the naked light I saw
A score of people, maybe more.
People panicking and screaming,
People running about and yelling,
People crying help and jumping out to street
What a treat!
I love the smell of gas'line.

And now the warmth of fire shows;
fire like a cancer grows.
Feel the heat which will soon engulf you,
see all the flames which might soon reach you.
So my pleasure is burning houses down,
in this town
And throwing bombs of gas'line

And the people screamed and prayed
and certain pleas to God they made.
And the police flashed out their warning,
As a cordon they were forming.
And they captured me and stuffed me in their car
behind the bars -
I am sent - in asylum...