Lonely Flower

Moths

 

Oh to be a moth,

To fly away from all the pain,

Eat thread from a cloth.

Thrive at night,

And during the day,

Out of sight.

 

Maybe that's what I am,

Attracted to false lights,

Fluttering around through Amsterdam.

So small,

So quiet,

Before I fall.

 

Maybe being a moth isn't so great,

While I know I'll live for some time,

Moths don't have such a similar fate.

They're all around us,

Staying still, not moving an inch,

Because we make such a fuss.

 

Maybe we're all moths,

Easily killed,

Easily forgotten,

Easily lost.

Maybe we're all wishing the same thing,

To leave our agony, our fear, our insecurity,

To become Butterflies,

But it'll still sting.

 

We strive to be more beautiful, more appealing, more wanted,

And it'll slowly destroy us,

Eating away,

Until we're haunted.

Maybe once we realize,

That moths aren't so bad,

We'll learn to live,

And stop our demise.

But so long as we're attracted to fake lights,

We'll die.

 

-- JesusFreak

Done