Melancholia

Light\'s out

Little flame

Flickering at night

Putting up a fight

Oxygen\'s running low

Barely letting it glow

Wriggles like a worm

Wax slowly becomes firm

Fire at the brink of death

Soon it\'ll take it\'s last breath

A grim room will be it\'s grave

Even if it burnt so brave 

Defended the wick with its heat

Always got back on fiery feet

But even light will become a slave 

Extinguish its power and behave

Before the darkest of ends