The Moth Falls Clear of Emotions, But Not a Burning Candle
When the Moth flies drained of all her feelings
Flight weakens her wings, all that is cherished
Wings dry like powder, caught in a stale breeze
Powder falls up and out, tender this does make
When wings carry the weight of the world
Flight makes heavy the silken frame of love
Then a heart is weaken from yesterdays flight
The Moth has been singed by fire of the lovelorn
When the Moth takes a once in a lifetime chance flight
There are no strings to this puppet of thought
Heat rises, but where there is a cold heart in view
One falls clear of emotions, but not a burning candle
When slow sinking takes to the depths of feelings
Strike a match and give life to the candle with flame
Offer roses of twenty for thirdy seconds of wild and red
The Moth lands on a bud, yet to glory for praising luck
When a moth flies high and touches the luners edge
Kissed in morning dewdrops, mother taught to flutter
The powder dries quick, bide your time upon the rocks
Don't fly low to this candles flame, burnt you shall be
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