We were only seventeen,
Deciding that we’d play a bit with fire —
The car became a treasure house,
A gateway to adulthood, and desire —
We pushed our way past all the trees
That lined our streets with doubt;
For one was on the outside in,
The other, inside out —
We drove around the world, it seemed:
Or thought the world around us surely turned —
But we were only seventeen,
And learned enough of fire to
Get burned