This is the way I heard it.

Once upon a time when America's soundtrack was flooded with folk songs

and the music of the day featured something called a melody,

our country was united by a cheerful and unforgettable refrain,

a joyful tune that inspired regular folks from sea to shining sea

like no other melody before or since.

The song was called When the World's on Fire,

and I'm pretty sure you know the melody by heart.

But what about the words?

Oh, my love and mother, when the world's on fire,

don't you want God's bosom to be your pillow?

Dark lyrics for such a happy tune.

So one day a good-natured man with a guitar and a smile

and his eyes wrote some new words to accompany that melody.

And now that man was engulfed in flames.

This time the fault was his.

He had set the gas can to near to the campfire

and when it exploded with a gentle woof, the flames

had leapt up like a living thing and covered his right sleeve.

Seconds later he was on the ground trying to smother the flames.

He finally succeeded, but his ruined arm now hung limply at his side,

blistered and useless.

...