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Flagler's On Fire
The fingers of Hell scratch pine, bog and mire. All ripe for destruction, Flagler's on fire. Dirt and dust, it's getting drier and drier, On us, Satan has taken out his ire. They say a fire storm, from Daytona to Mims, Devours the forests and all hope dims. Far away, the dark haze hangs in the sky, Like Satan's fingers scraping on high. Swept north by the county line, Jumping the tree tops of Volusia's pine. Firefighters battle with hose in hand, Against walls of flame, they make a stand. With scorching flame and searing heat, Standing their ground, not wanting retreat. There's a firefighter from Nebraska; Standing by his side, one from Alaska. United in brotherhood, meeting the test, Dedicated firefighters, America's best. Bless the firemen, there's no doubt. But for God and them, Flagler's fire is out. |