The Moth

Oh the madness has begun, the seven thousandth

year!

For each tear is everlasting, I think

She flies with her special ears

As she hears such lightning,

I am a human to my cause, once again

And once again I tremble to her madness

Trapped in a paper cup

And the voodoo has me rising in tears

Oh I freight through the years, for my sorrow

is heavy

Methinks the world is going nuts!

Oh what a safe cave I've been endearing

For the dearest lies are true;

Don't fret, my little moth,

Everything will be okay

For the heart of hearts is ever so resistant

And all the broken lies you have seen

They fall before your eyes

And your human lust is no longer there!

I beg to differ

In a house that is stolen,

And truth is where this all comes in

The flower on the grave,

For she speaks of truelove

And truelove alone,

There can only be flowers in dismay

So what do we have on display?

For the moth speaks of ancient times

Embodied by the grave,

The dearest of them all...

And why must we convey

The language of the forest?

For there is darkness all around

And broken hearts surrender,

Surrender to the grave my son! Surrender

to the grave!

For your story reigns true to the north;

For up there, there is a mystery unfound

Behold the lairs are bound!

If I am losing you, dear moth

The sight is certainly unseen!

For the boys running down the hall are

brief...

Behold a child of grief!

What's going on, my dear moth?

My dear moth has a thundering seed

And lightning has its bondage

I can't believe I'm right, my dear;

Oh my dear, have you noticed lately

The dearest trees on the farm?

For I have listened to the willow tree

Sparkling again,

Oh dearest moth! Oh dearest moth!

Does the breath of poetry make you rise

again?

For I have fallen into your trap...once again!

Hear me speak my open flower

Make love to me in your depth,

For the depths of love are ruined

For I am a little moth too.