The Pines

When we were burning the pines The coals and cold air we caught at the same time You called it the fire And I called it home All the sap on our skin Stained golden Distilled by a Bedouin You called it the sun And I called it home You called it the fire Am I alone? When we were pitching the warmth Putting out all but what we should live for You called it the right thing And I called it cold And I felt my soul ring Is this home? --- The Pines - Rose Brokenshire