The moth by the firelight,
Drawn to the glowing pyre,
Yet a fire\'s ember never burn
In the face of a perilous liar.
The moth will swish and turn
And find a city of stars,
With hundreds of lights,
Burning far and bright,
Like the end of a thousand cigars,
Yet once the lights dim and darken,
The moth is soon to turn its path,
The city of stars, now glass inside jars,
The moth makes a folly attack.
But once the city is glowing again,
Just as it was before,
The moth will come back,
Drunk on its lack,
Of never making it far.