The moth, she knows the flame will burn
But back again, again she comes,
Her velvet collisions dress the air,
Sparkling against these tempting embers
Where she throws herself over and over
Upon the most flickering of fascinations,
Such senseless self-immolation 
Strips her to a carapace, 
Leaving her scorched, naked, undressed, undone, 
Beneath the tragic unravelling of her world.